


Molasses in the Sky

by Garnent



Category: K-pop, Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Angst, Boyfriends, California, Eventual Smut, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Han Jisung is straight (at first), Han Jisung | Han is Whipped, Han Jisung | Han is a Panicked Gay, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Lee Minho | Lee Know is a Confident Gay, Los Angeles, M/M, Major Character Injury, Reversible Couple, Strangers to Lovers, Switch Han Jisung | Han, Switch Lee Minho | Lee Know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:08:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 189,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26124742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garnent/pseuds/Garnent
Summary: Han Jisung lives with a ghost.He knows he’s there, can sense his presence in the empty takeout containers left by the sink, the extra pairs of shoes in the entryway, and the smell of his cologne that sticks around the apartment and never seems to go away. They share the rent and the space but nothing more, nothing between them but superficial friendship, the forced camaraderie of being roommates. For a while, Jisung was happy with just that.Until the day when curiosity got the better of him and he just had to know more, and he started to piece together the island within an island that was Lee Minho.
Relationships: Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Lee Felix/Seo Changbin
Comments: 312
Kudos: 649





	1. California (There is No End to Love)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all!
> 
> You may know me from my Taeten fanfiction, "Melting Scented Candles." Well, welcome to my first Stray Kids fanfiction! Stray Kids are my ults, and since they've been killing it this year, I decided to finally write this.
> 
> First, some notes:  
> \- In exposition and dialogue between Korean characters, I will be using the members' Korean names.  
> \- In dialogue with American characters, I will be using the members' English names.  
> \- Chan and Felix use a lot of Australian slang because... I want them to. If you don't know what something means, look it up. 
> 
> Their English names are:  
> Jisung = Peter Han  
> Minho = Reno Lee (I know he spells it 'Rhino,' but I will always read that as the animal so I'm spelling it 'Reno.')  
> Chan = Christopher Bang  
> Felix = Felix Lee  
> Changbin = Lewis Seo  
> Hyunjin = Sam Hwang  
> Seungmin = Sky Kim  
> Jeongin = Bobby Yang (I know it's technically just 'Bob' but I'm saying 'Bobby' because no-one under 40 is named 'Bob.')
> 
> I hope you enjoy this story! I'm not sure how long it will be yet, but we'll see! I can be pretty slow at posting new chapters, so please bear with me :) Let me know your thoughts in the comments, it really keeps me going. Each chapter will be named after a song and start with a certain lyric from that song. The first is named after a song by U2! 
> 
> Have fun and stream God's Menu!
> 
> Happy reading~

_California._  
_Blood-orange sunset brings you to your knees._

It was a quiet, mid-afternoon day in late September, the city suffering from that middle-of-the-week lull. Even so, cars honked and passed on the roads and pedestrians walked back-and-forth outside the window, creating a hum of noise that filtered through the open door of the record shop. He sat at the front desk, his head supported by his fist, boredom clawing at his skull. It had been one hour and thirty-seven minutes since he’d last seen a customer. He had been counting.

Some American eighties classic crackled through the old speakers overhead, a song he knew only because he worked there, and thus had heard it multiple times. It was a song that seemed to hold a kind of nostalgia for people native to the area. He, however, had only been in Los Angeles for less than a year, not to mention he was born twenty years too late for the song to have any higher meaning to him. Still, it was a good tune, and he couldn’t help but tap his foot along to the rhythm.

He felt his phone buzz in the pocket of his hoodie, and slyly checked to see if his manager was in any position to spot him slacking. Finding said manager was nowhere to be seen, he snuck his phone out of his pocket and checked it beneath the desk. It was a text, from a number he didn’t have saved.

9월 23일, 2:46 오후  
Hey Peter, I had a great time last night ;)  
See u again?

The corner of his mouth perked up for a moment. It definitely filled him with a sense of accomplishment every time one of his hook-ups asked to ‘meet again,’ even though he ultimately had no plans to. He lived by one cardinal rule: Never sleep with the same person twice. He’d planned for his university days to be frivolous and disconnected, no hangups and nothing to be left behind.

He turned his phone off and tucked it back into his pocket without replying. At first, he’d felt guilty always leaving the girls on Read, but over time he’d grown numb to the feeling. He was a playboy, they all knew it, and if they got attached that was their problem.

Someone walked through the open door, the first customer in almost two hours. He was excited until he saw who it was—not a customer after all.

“Hiya, Jisungie,” said Hyunjin, leaning his elbows down on the counter and giving him a cheeky look. “How’s work today? Lineup out the door, I see.”

“Har, har, you’re so funny.” He rolled his eyes at his friend. “What are you doing here, anyway? I’m going to get in trouble if you keep distracting me while I’m supposed to be working.”

Hyunjin made a face. “Right. Because you were doing _so_ much work before I came and _distracted_ you. Anyway, you get off soon, don’t you?”

Jisung checked the clock. “Ten minutes. And it’s not just that you’re distracting me. You know how my manager is. Low-key racist. Doesn’t like listening to us talk unless it’s in English.”

“Ahem, well excuse me, then,” Hyunjin said, switching languages, “is this better?”

“No. I like annoying him,” Jisung replied with a grin. “I wish he would fire me for speaking Korean. Then, I could sue him and pay off my student loans.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Hyunjin straightened and turned to the shelves behind him, sifting through the stacks of CDs, picking one up and squinting at it. “Fifteen dollars for a U2 album? Is the disc made of gold?”

Jisung cocked his head. “It’s out of my hands. You got a problem with the prices, you take it to the big man.”

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear—the manager came out from the back room, arms crossed above his pot belly and a scowl on his bearded face. He warned, sternly, “Peter, I’m not paying you to chit-chat with your friends.” 

Hyunjin made a spooked face. Jisung said, “Okay, sorry.” Then, as soon as the manager turned his back, he muttered under his breath, “ _Peter, I’m not paying you to chit-chat with your friends._ ”

“I can’t believe he hasn’t fired you yet,” said Hyunjin, with a grin.

Jisung snorted. “If he does, I’m going to your work and getting _you_ fired. Go wait for me outside, I’ll be done here in five and we’ll grab coffee, yeah?”

“Sure.” Hyunjin nodded and turned for the door, slipping the U2 CD into his jacket as he went. Jisung pretended he saw nothing.

He was certain that time moved slower when he was minutes away from clocking out. He sat at the desk, picking at the dirt from under his nails while watching people pass by the shop outside, not even giving it a glance. When he’d applied for the job, the lack of traffic seemed appealing, a “get paid for doing nothing” type of thing. As it turned out, he’d rather eat his own hands than do nothing for five-to-eight hours. 

Eventually, the eternity passed, and he was allowed to punch out. He collected his jacket and backpack and headed for the street, finding Hyunjin sitting on the curb next to a parking meter and scrolling through his phone.

“Boo!” Jisung said into his ear. Easily spooked, Hyunjin flinched and looked at Jisung with wide eyes, before slouching and letting out a breath.

He turned his phone off and stood up from the curb. “There’s a Starbucks up there a few blocks. Or we could check out that new fancy-schmancy café that opened up a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh yeah, that one. What was it called? _Awaken_ or some shit?” Jisung remarked. “Eh, it’s payday tomorrow. I’m feeling like an americano with an extra shot of overpriced.”

Hyunjin turned on his heels with a nod, and as Jisung went to follow, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket again and dug it out to check it. It was another text, from the same number as before.

9월 23일, 3:09 오후  
Really? Ur just gonna leave me on read?  
Ur a piece of shit

He heard Hyunjin snort next to him and turned to catch him reading over his shoulder. Defensively, he put his phone away.

“Another one of your fuck buddies?” Hyunjin asked teasingly.

“No. I don’t have ‘fuck buddies,’” Jisung quipped. “I hooked up with her last night. I think her name was, uh . . . Stella? No, Stacy! No, wait . . .”

Hyunjin puffed out his cheeks. “Jesus, dude. You _are_ a piece of shit.”

Jisung gave him a playful nudge, and they walked the rest of the way in comfortable silence. The coffee shop, which was cleverly titled _Brewed Awakening_ , was a cozy space on the corner with a black-painted front and the smell of fresh grounds wafting out the door. It was well-populated inside, mostly with students typing on their laptops or scribbling notes down on paper, and Jisung couldn’t help but feel a slight sense of jealousy in his stomach.

They walked inside and Hyunjin took a quick look around. “Yeah, this place _screams_ ‘we charge $5.99 for a latte.’ It’s cute, though.”

“Yeah, sure, whatever. The coffee better be made of God’s tears,” Jisung scoffed. “Look at the menu, you’re hardly exaggerating. _Four dollars_ for a fucking americano? Are you serious?”

“We can always just go to Starbucks,” Hyunjin suggested, but Jisung shook his head. “Alright then, let’s— Hey, look, it’s your roommate. I didn’t know he worked here.”

Jisung followed Hyunjin’s gaze, and sure enough, standing behind the counter in a black apron was Lee Minho. He had his sleeves rolled up and his hair styled off his forehead, and was chatting almost affectionately with the two female customers who were absolutely enamored by his soft smile and sparkling eyes. Jisung felt his nose twitch.

“Fuck, I didn’t either,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Hey, uh, how about you order? Iced americano, black. I’ll get you back for it. I’ll, uh, find us a seat.”

Hyunjin gave him a confused look, but he was already gunning for the last free table. He watched from his seat as his friend went to order, watched him chat amiably with Minho, as the two knew each other from their shared hobby of dance. At one point, Hyunjin turned and pointed out Jisung, prompting Minho to lock eyes with him, and he stifled a cringe. He waved awkwardly, and got a mere eyebrow twitch in response.

Hyunjin joined him at the table with their drinks minutes later. As he sat down, he glanced back one last time at Minho before giving Jisung a questioning leer. “What’s your problem? Did you guys have a fight?”

Jisung sipped from his drink and shook his head. “No, no, nothing like that. We’re just, well, y’know, we don’t really . . . know each other that well. We aren’t friends. So, it’s kind of weird seeing him around, y’know?”

“No, I don’t know,” Hyunjin scoffed. “You’ve been living under the same roof for how long and you don’t know anything about him? You can’t even order a coffee from him?”

“No, I know stuff about him!” Jisung protested, feeling silly.

“Uh huh. When’s his birthday? What’s his mom’s name? His favourite food?” Hyunjin grilled him. Jisung was tongue-tied. “Exactly. You don’t know shit about him. C’mon, man, that’s embarrassing.”

“I know, I know, okay? I’m just . . . it’s hard making friends. He’s also older and, well, it’s like he’s in a different world than me. I’m just starting college and he’s looking toward graduation,” Jisung rambled. “He’s also kinda . . . cold. Untouchable, almost. We’re only living together for convenience, anyway. And he’s never home. And—”

Hyunjin clicked his tongue. “Excuses, excuses! I don’t want to hear you say you’re ‘too shy’ to talk to your _roommate_ , whom you’ve lived with for months. You pick up random girls every other night, so don’t give me that shit.”

“Hey, that’s different! Girls are easy, all I have to do is compliment them a couple times, then ask if they want to ‘get out of here.’ Then we fuck and I never have to see them again,” Jisung argued. “Building a friendship is a whole other thing, okay?”

Hyunjin gave him a sour face. “I said it before, but I’m saying it again. You’re a piece of shit. Ever thought that maybe they’re humans, and not tools to be used and then discarded?”

“Now you’re changing the subject.” Jisung grimaced. “Listen, it’s not like I act like I want a relationship until I get what I want and then dip. I’m only in it for a hit and I make that clear, they know what they’re getting into.”

“Whatever, shithead,” Hyunjin mumbled, sticking out his tongue. “Anyway, isn’t it awkward sharing a space with someone you can’t even talk to?”

Jisung shrugged. “We talk. I ask him how work was, how class went, stuff like that. He gives me short answers and then leaves again. It’s not my fault he’s always out, y’know. He’s either working or slaving away at the campus dance studio. And when he _is_ home, he’s either sleeping or studying, all cooped up in his room. How am I supposed to make friends with someone like that?”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes but said nothing more, turning instead to type something out on his phone while sipping from his cup. He smacked his lips at the taste, and scowled in a way that said he didn’t believe the drink was worth the cost. Jisung was left to sit with his ridiculed feeling, and found himself glancing at Minho, who was busy fiddling with the espresso machine, his brows twisted in concentration. He carried himself with a certain confidence that usually managed to mask how out-of-his-element he was, but in moments like this, when he thought no-one was watching, it became clear that this was one of his first days as a barista.

Jisung wondered about that. Why had Minho taken another job? Didn’t he already work at a club? Or was it a construction site? He thought perhaps it was a little embarrassing that he didn’t know. There was a lot he didn’t know. He didn’t know why Minho worked himself to the bone, why Minho spent all his free time dancing, or why he found himself transfixed at the way Minho pushed his hair back and puffed out his chest with pride once he’d managed to master the way of the coffee machine. Maybe he found it endearing.

Just then, a pair of girls who’d been sitting a couple tables down stood and made their way to the garbage cans, then stopped in their tracks at the sight of Jisung. Upon seeing them, he cursed under his breath and sat back in his chair.

“Holy shit, Peter?” one of them said, pointing at him with the hand used to hold her coffee. “No way I’m running into you here. Do you even remember me?”

Hyunjin turned to look at her, then gave Jisung a confused glance. Jisung said, “Yeah, I remember you . . . Stephanie?”

She scowled. “ _Sarah_ , dickhead. You could’ve texted me back.”

Jisung shrugged coolly. “Yeah, I could’ve. But you know me, Sarah, I’m a one-and-done kind of guy, I’m not looking for anything substantial. Not that you weren’t a good lay, it’s just, I don’t get attached.”

Hyunjin made a gagging sound, and Jisung shot him a glare. The girl scoffed aloud, “Huh! It’s not like I want to marry you, asshole! And even if you’re gonna turn me down, just leaving me on Read is really cold.”

“Sorry. It’s not personal, ask anyone,” said Jisung.

Sarah twisted up her mouth in disgust. “I’m sure I could.”

The other girl gave Jisung an angry stare and grabbed Sarah by the arm, tugging her away and saying, “C’mon girl, this dirtbag isn’t worth your time.” The pair walked to the garbage cans and discarded their empty cups, and the other girl added, “Why were you even bothering with him, anyway?”

Sarah looked upwards wistfully and sighed. “Well, obviously he’s an asshole, but . . . girl, that dick was bomb.”

Jisung coughed into his fist to suppress a grin. When the girls had left, Hyunjin whistled and made the sound of a bomb landing. “Nice one, dude.”

Jisung shook his head. “Nah, that’s a win for me. I give it to ‘em once and make sure they never forget it. She’ll never have me again but, man, she’ll wish she could.”

“Sure. Do I need to say it _again_?” Hyunjin jabbed.

He laughed. “No, thanks. I got the message.”

Jisung watched the girls leave, catching Sarah turning to get one last look at him. He looked smugly down at his americano, then back up to find Minho staring at him, his expression indecipherable. Shaking free of Jisung’s gaze, Minho placed a steaming white mug down on the counter and called out, “Latte for Kelsey?”

***

After their visit at the coffee shop, Hyunjin had sped off with some mumblings about his studies, and Jisung had checked his phone to find a text from Chan asking to meet at the student lounge. He’d made his way quickly to campus by bus and found Chan in the lounge, accompanied by Changbin, and they were crammed in one armchair with their faces buried in Chan’s Macbook. Jisung dropped his bag on the ground and sat on the armrest, glancing at the screen.

“Good, you’re finally here,” Chan said. “Check this, we hit five-thousand views on our performance video from last year. Look.”

The three of them had known each other since high school, and had begun producing hip-hop tracks as a trio for, more than anything, something to do. On a whim, they’d gotten Hyunjin to film them performing at an underground spot one year prior and posted it to YouTube, not planning on getting any kind of response. Jisung squinted at the screen, seeing the video did indeed have 5,037 views. He felt proud until he remembered which song it was.

“Oh, Christ, not _that_ one,” he shuddered. “ _Any_ song but that song. Out of everything we’ve done, that’s the one that gets attention? I don’t even want to look at the comments, I know they’re laughing at us.”

“What’s wrong with it?” Chan argued. “In fairness it’s a little ‘skeevy-high-school-teenage-boy,’ but the beat is nice.”

“A _little_ ‘skeevy-high-school-teenage-boy’? It literally starts with ‘Excuse me, noona, do you have a boyfriend?’” Jisung said, and then wriggled his shoulders as if he could shake the shame off. “Whose idea was it to film this, anyway?”

“Yours,” said Chan and Changbin, at once. Then, Changbin continued, “You were proud of this track, originally.”

“Lord, don’t remind me.” Jisung buried his face in his hands. “So, here’s the plan. We take this video down, then we find the five-thousand and thirty-seven people who viewed it and kill them. Nobody can know this exists.”

Changbin squinted at the screen. “Five-thousand and thirty- _eight_ people, now.”

Chan sighed loudly. “It’s too late, Jisungie. The damage is done. And we’re not killing people. Learn to live with the marks on your past.”

“If I ever try to become a serious producer, that _is_ going to come back to haunt me. And I’m blaming Changbin,” Jisung complained.

“ _You_ wrote the ‘noona’ line,” Changbin replied pointedly.

Chan interrupted them. “Anyway, that’s not the only reason I called you here. We need to get some new tracks out, y’know, strike while the iron’s hot. So, I came up with a beat last night. Give it a listen.”

He passed Jisung his headphones to fit over his ears. It was a subdued, low-tempo beat with mild percussion and sound effects thrown in, and Jisung found himself bobbing his head to it. “I like it,” he said.

“Good. I wanted to do something a little different, show the judges versatility,” Chan explained. “Think you can draft some bars for it, say, by next week?”

“Yeah, easy.” Jisung nodded. “Just send me the link to the track and I’ll see what I can do. I’m already feeling a rainy-day bluesy kind of vibe for this.”

“Okay, sick,” Chan said, collecting his headphones and stuffing them, along with his laptop, into his backpack. “Well, Changbin and me are headed out for a durry. Come with?”

Jisung stood up and slung his bag over one shoulder. “Sure, why not?”

The three of them left the student lounge and made their way out to the parking lot, climbing into the back of Chan’s 2009 Ram 1500 pickup he’d snagged for a good deal on Craigslist yet was still in the process of paying off. Chan leaned into Changbin’s shoulder and asked him, “How many in your pack?”

“Twelve. You?” asked Changbin.

“Seven. I win,” Chan sneered. “Crack it open, mate.”

Changbin sighed and dug his cigarette pack out of his bag, passing one to Chan and one to Jisung before taking out his own and holding it between his lips. Jisung wasn’t exactly a smoker, but he would indulge socially whenever the chance arose. Chan lit his and passed the lighter to Jisung, taking a drag.

“So how’s Minho been lately?” Chan asked nonchalantly, puffing out smoke between his words.

Jisung seized up. “I don’t know, ask him.”

“Are you guys still not speaking? What is up with you two?” Changbin asked gruffly, leaning one elbow on the edge of the pickup.

“It’s not that we aren’t speaking. Like, we’re not enemies or anything like that,” Jisung said. “We just aren’t friends, so we don’t exactly keep tabs on each other. We share a roof and the rent, that’s it.”

“You’ve lived together for like five months, how are you not friends?” Changbin scoffed. “What the hell do you guys talk about, the weather?”

“Seven months,” Jisung corrected him. “And sure, we talk about the weather, sometimes. What’s it to you? Why does everyone think it’s so bad that we aren’t close? I only moved in because he needed help with rent and I needed a place to stay, and Chan slapped us together. You expect us to just be buddies? We’re two very, very different people.”

“How would you know? You don’t talk to him,” Chan derided. Before Jisung could retaliate, he went on. “You’re just a bludger about making friends. You’re more like him than you think. He dances, you make music. He sleeps around, you sleep around . . .”

Jisung huffed. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure we’ll get right on talking about all the pussy we get. Give it a rest. Maybe we’ll become closer one day, but I doubt it. He’ll probably move out as soon as he graduates and we’ll never see each other again.”

Chan and Changbin exchanged a look that suggested they knew something he didn’t, but weren’t about to say it. “Wow. You _really_ don’t know a thing about him,” Chan commented, taking another long drag of his cigarette. Jisung wasn’t about to ask what he meant. He had a feeling Chan wouldn’t explain himself, anyway. 

***

He spent the rest of the afternoon with Chan and Changbin, and when it started getting dark, he said his goodbyes and made his way to his apartment. The building was within walking distance of campus and was actually slightly high-end, affordable only thanks to the rent discounts given to active students. He took the elevator in solitude, digging out his keys from his pocket well before he reached the door to his suite, the jangling metal echoing through the long and empty hallway. 

He pushed open the door and it jammed partway, something inside blocking it, so he groaned and squeezed himself through the opening. The blockage was caused by Minho’s work shoes—a pair of black sneakers that were too dirty and faded to be worn for anything else; far different from his dancing shoes, which he kept in pristine shape. Jisung kicked the sneakers aside with a huff. It was very like his roommate to leave his shoes in the middle of the entryway no matter how many times Jisung asked him not to.

“Hello?” he called out into the suite. If his work shoes were there, then Minho must be as well. However, there was no response, so he tried again. “Minho? You in?”

Still nothing. Jisung hummed and walked into the living room, tossing his hoodie onto the couch and sitting on it. Minho’s study notes had been left sprawled all over the coffee table, next to an empty cup and his laptop, which was open but the screen was off. He noticed the door to Minho’s room was slightly ajar, and the light was still on inside, so he got up and made his way to it, knocking once.

“Minho?” he called out. Nothing. He pushed the door open and found the room was vacant. There were piles of papers on the desk, clothes all over the floor, and the bed was unmade. He took a step inside and his foot tangled with fabric—the grey button-up Minho had been wearing at the coffee shop, left discarded on the ground. So he had been home at one point, but had since left, seemingly in a hurry.

Jisung shrugged and turned the room light off, shutting the door behind him. Returning to the couch, he found his phone was vibrating loudly against the coffee table. It was a call, from Hyunjin.

“What’s up?” he answered it. 

“Hey! I’m with Felix, we’re outside your building!” Hyunjin said excitedly. “Come out with us!”

“Come out where? And who’s Felix again?” Jisung asked.

“He’s Chan’s friend? From Australia? He dances with Minho and I sometimes?” Hyunjin explained. “And Dallas is hosting a house party tonight, I heard it’s a real rager. C’mon, let’s go!”

Jisung made a face. “A rager? It’s Wednesday.”

“Welcome to Los Angeles,” Hyunjin muttered. “Let’s go~!”

He was hung up on before he could argue further. Sighing, he collected his hoodie and his shoes and hurried back out the door, meeting Hyunjin and so-called ‘Felix’ on the sidewalk outside. He was all but dragged into Hyunjin’s car, dumped in the backseat, and they were driving before he could even say ‘Hello.’

“So you’re Jisung?” Felix asked, breaking the silence. “I’ve heard a lot about you. How do you know Hyunjin?”

Jisung shifted awkwardly. “We’re childhood friends.”

“Oh, yeah?” Felix hummed. “I heard you used to fight a lot.”

Hyunjin snorted loudly. “Yep. Christ, we hated each other in high school. We were sent to the office every other day for ‘disrupting class’ with our bickering.”

“He used to bully me,” Jisung said quietly.

“I did not!” argued Hyunjin.

“You did!” Jisung argued back. “You picked on me all the time! You told me my clothes were ugly, I had no class, that I was a nerd, a loser . . .”

Hyunjin huffed. “You picked on me too! You made fun of my hair for being too short or too long, you made fun of the food I ate, you accused me of smoking cigarettes in the bathroom—”

“You _did_ smoke cigarettes in the bathroom,” Jisung scoffed.

“Okay, fine, I did, but you didn’t know that at the time.”

“I did know that, you smelled like tobacco every day after lunch!”

“Okay, okay, _wow_ , sorry I brought it up,” Felix laughed. “If you were at each other like that all the time, how did you even become friends?”

“We made up the way all boys do. We duked it out,” Hyunjin said, reminiscently. “Three o’clock on the basketball courts, the whole class watching. Once I had a bloody nose and he had a split lip, a teacher came and dragged us to the office. We both got slapped with a week of detention, had to clean the bathrooms every day after school. I guess that’s when we started to get along.”

“We’ve been inseparable ever since,” Jisung sighed romantically, and Hyunjin shot him an annoyed look in the rear-view. The car parked outside a large house that was bumping with loud music and flashing with coloured lights, partygoers drinking in the front yard and the door wide open. As he climbed out of the car, Jisung whistled and said, “Jeez, how have the neighbours not complained?”

“Welcome to Los Angeles,” Hyunjin said again, crossing the lawn and doing a passing handshake with some guy Jisung didn’t recognize. Walking through the foyer, he was shoulder-checked about ten times by people going by him, and he immediately felt claustrophobic. The music was some washed-up American rap song that Jisung didn’t think was that good but he heard it played at every party he went to. Hyunjin led the way to the living room, where a bunch of guys were playing beer pong next to a table full of snacks and refreshments.

“Yo, Dallas!” Hyunjin called out. A guy holding a ping-pong ball looked up and a smile crossed his face, and he embraced Hyunjin in a bro-hug. “Thanks for inviting us, man. These are my friends, Peter and Felix.”

“Hey, no problem, Sam!” Dallas said. “Nice to meet ya Peter, Felix.”

Jisung nodded and politely fist-bumped him, then followed Hyunjin to grab beers. He dove his hand into the bowl of Cheetos and shoved the whole fistful in his mouth before downing half the bottle in three swigs. Felix gave him a shocked look.

“So, think you’ll take anyone home tonight?” Hyunjin asked slyly.

Felix grinned and subtly pointed at a girl across the room. “Yeah, like her? She’s cute.”

“Nope. Been with her before,” Jisung said. Felix pointed at another girl, and Jisung shook his head. “Her too.”

Felix whistled. “Wow. Well, what difference does that make? If you’ve been with her before, that just makes it easier to get with her again. Or was it not good before?”

“He has this thing,” Hyunjin mumbled, crossing his arms, “what was it? ‘Never sleep with the same person twice’? Yeah, he lives by that.”

Felix raised his eyebrows. “Oh. Well, that won’t last long. At the rate you’re going, you’ll run out of options. Maybe it’s time to bend the rules a bit?”

“No way. College is supposed to be unhinged, I don’t want to leave anything behind,” Jisung said firmly. “If you sleep with someone more than once, she’ll think you have a ‘thing.’ I’m not looking for any ‘things.’”

“Suit yourself, man,” Hyunjin said dismissively. “And, hey, if you run out of girls, you can always start fucking dudes, right?”

Jisung snorted and rolled his eyes. “Ha, ha. Yeah right.”

They followed Hyunjin into the backyard, where even more people were scattered on the lawn and the pool was so full of jumbled bodies that Jisung couldn’t even see the water. They ran into a small group of girls by the volleyball net, one of which he recognized as Olivia, a friend of Hyunjin’s whom he met through their shared major. She gleefully hugged Hyunjin and played with his hair, making some comment about how long it was getting.

“Hi, Liv, how are you?” Hyunjin asked her.

“I’m okay! Guys, this is Sam, we have classes together,” Olivia said. “Sam, these are my girls Jasmine, Layla, and Kassidi.”

Hyunjin waved to them. “Hi. This is Peter, and this is Felix.”

Kassidi, a girl with shoulder-length brown hair and blonde highlights, perked up suddenly. “Peter? Like, Peter Han?”

“. . . Yes, that’s me,” he replied, running a hand through his hair nervously. He wondered if his reputation had really gotten too far.

Kassidi squealed a little. “Oh, my gosh! This is crazy, I know you, sorta! You slept with my friend, Saph!”

“And everyone else,” Hyunjin mumbled under his breath, and Jisung tried not to hit him.

It was always an adventure dealing with drunk girls, as they tended to say all kinds of things they wouldn’t otherwise. He asked, “Saph?”

“Sapphire,” Kassidi said, then giggled. “Anyway, she said you’re roommates with Reno Lee, is that true?”

Jisung scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, I am. Why?”

Kassidi took on a flirtatious posture, twirling her hair and batting her eyes. “Think you could maybe . . . hook us up? I’ve heard some stuff, apparently he’s great in bed, but he’s hard to approach. Introduce me to him?”

“ _I_ heard he’s got a big dick,” Jasmine piped up. Layla gasped and started shaking her, giggling, “Oh my God, Jas! You can’t just _say_ that!”

Jisung widened his eyes. “I . . . didn’t need to know that,” he muttered. He didn’t know what else to say, feeling very put on the spot.

Thankfully, Hyunjin saved him. “Sorry to burst your bubble, Kassidi, but I don’t think he’d be interested. It’s not personal.”

She seemed upset, but before she could complain, Olivia stepped in. “Okay, well, I think they’ve had enough. Sorry about that, Peter. Girls, shall we go get ourselves some water?”

And they went, herded back toward the house by Olivia as she waved Hyunjin good-bye. Jisung was still reeling from the interaction, his brain still processing the horde of information he’d just unwillingly learned about his roommate. Felix went up to Hyunjin and started nudging him.

“So, that Olivia girl,” he said, “she’s pretty. Get with her yet?”

Hyunjin laughed dryly. “No, dude, I’m _well_ past the point of ‘friendzoned,’ try as I might.”

Jisung snapped himself out of his thoughts and turned to them. “That was kinda mean, what you said to Kassidi. Turning her down like that?”

Hyunjin shrugged. “Well, it’s the truth. I’m not about to send her on the fruitless mission of trying to sleep with Minho. It’d never happen.”

“Why not? Is he taken?” Jisung asked.

“No, dude,” Hyunjin exhaled incredulously, “you don’t know?”

“Know what?”

Hyunjin and Felix exchanged an awkward look. For the second time that day, he felt like the third-wheel on some secret about Minho. Felix just said, “You know what? You ask him. It’s not our shit to tell.”

They walked away from him. Jisung trailed after, wondering aloud, “Why doesn’t anyone tell me anything?” 

They ended up in the second living space of the house, which had been cleared out to make room for dancing, the stereo by the far wall pumping more washed-up rap music at full volume through two huge speakers. Hyunjin disappeared for a moment, returning with three shot glasses full of probably whiskey, which he shoved into Jisung and Felix’s hands before downing his own. Jisung shrugged before knocking his back, the taste stinging his throat and pooling warmly in his stomach.

“Let’s dance!” Hyunjin said giddily, dragging him by the arms to the throng of people jumping up-and-down in the middle of the room, and Felix pushed him further by the shoulders from behind.

“How am I even supposed to dance to this garbage music?” Jisung complained, trying to pull himself from their grasp.

Hyunjin scoffed. “Huh! It’s not garbage! Look, that guy’s managing it— Oh, shit, that’s Minho.”

Jisung looked, and sure enough, Minho was in the center of the room dancing up a storm, garnering attention from onlookers. He was wearing an oversized t-shirt that was coming untucked from very ripped jeans, and his hair was swept over his forehead and gleaming with either sweat or gel, or both. He noticed them, and stopped for a moment, before a smile graced his lips and he started making his way to them.

“Hey, guys, I didn’t know you were here,” he said to Hyunjin and Felix, fist-bumping them both. Then he looked at Jisung. “Hey there.”

Looking into his eyes, Jisung didn’t know why he was so nervous. Probably the alcohol—yeah, that had to be it. He mustered a weak smile. “Hi, Minho.”

Minho flashed him a half-smile, and Jisung felt his chest tighten for some reason. Hyunjin seemed to notice the tense air between them, and spoke up, “You wanna dance with us?”

“Sure,” Minho said, leading them further into the crowd. The three of them definitely knew how to bust a move, and Jisung felt very out of his league, but he managed some half-hearted shimmying. At one point, Hyunjin nudged him rather harshly, and he tripped on his feet only to be caught by Minho. Whether Hyunjin did that on purpose or by accident he wouldn’t know.

“Shit. You okay?” Minho asked through a light chuckle, and Jisung could smell alcohol on his breath. He nodded lightly, and Minho took him by the wrists and started leading him in some moves. “Have you been home yet?”

“Uh, y-yeah,” he said, matching Minho’s steps to the best of his ability. He didn’t know what was happening, nor why he was letting it happen. 

“Oh. I think I left my shoes in the hallway again. Sorry,” Minho said, and tucked his body in a little closer. Jisung’s throat tightened.

“I-It’s fine,” he choked out. Minho chuckled again and took Jisung by the shoulders, spinning him around and pushing him back toward Hyunjin, only to come up behind him and sling an arm around him, grinding his hip into Jisung’s. It was a lot all at once. They had never done anything this friendly together, and Jisung’s mind couldn’t take it.

“I’m, ahem, gonna grab us some more drinks,” Jisung mumbled, twisting himself out of Minho’s grasp and scuttling away until he could breathe properly again. There were many possible reasons why he and Minho had never gotten close, but there was one that he could never tell his friends about—that Minho made him nervous-sweat like nothing else could, in a way he couldn’t describe. He had never known why. Something about the way Minho looked at him, the way his mouth moved when he spoke, the way he carried himself like he owned every room, it made Jisung feel something he didn’t totally like, but also didn’t totally hate.

He never saw Minho at the party again—he was gone from the dance floor by the time Jisung returned with more beers. He danced some more with Hyunjin and Felix until they were tired and sufficiently buzzed, then the two of them walked Jisung back to his apartment before departing for the night. He made his way back into his suite, his shoulders sagging with fatigue. When he got inside, he saw the sliding door to the balcony was open slightly, the wind blowing through the curtain, so he made his way to it curiously.

Peeking outside, he saw Minho seated wide-legged on one of the lawn chairs they had, smoking something pinched between his two fingers. He’d changed into a white shirt and grey sweats, and seemed to have showered.

“Cigarette?” Jisung asked, joining him at the lawn chairs. Minho looked over at him and chuckled, his eyes a little glazed.

“Weed,” he said, “want some?”

Jisung snorted. “Sure. I guess I’m getting crossed tonight.”

Minho passed him the joint. “I can’t sleep drunk. This helps.”

Jisung took a puff of it and passed it back, trying not to cough. It was quiet for a while. He looked up at the stars twinkling above them as his head started to feel fuzzy, the mixture of THC and alcohol working its magic. He quietly asked, “How was work?”

Minho shrugged, taking a long drag of the joint and blowing the smoke out slowly. “Eh. So-so. Place just opened a couple weeks ago and I’m still on job training. Damn coffee machine is so confusing. Too many fuckin’ buttons, man.”

Jisung laughed inwardly and took the joint again, trying to match Minho’s long drag, which just ended in him coughing it all out. “Ack, fuck . . . Well, isn’t this like, your second job? Or did you quit the other one?”

“Third job. I still work at the other ones. First time working at a coffee shop, though. I’m not used to all the yuppie customers. A bunch of hipsters with trust funds. Christ,” Minho muttered scornfully. He was definitely more talkative when he wasn’t sober. “I got one today, y’know, wanted to pay for the next person’s drink. Said he was ‘doing his good deed for the day.’ I wanted to laugh in his face. More money than sense, these people.”

Jisung already felt like an asshole, so he didn’t dare to ask what his other two jobs were. Instead, he said, “What’s wrong with doing a good deed?”

“Bah! It don’t got shit to do with ‘good deeds.’” Minho sat up and handed Jisung the last of the joint to finish off. “They just like to flash their money around. ‘Because I can, I will,’ y’know? Bullshit. It’s all bullshit.”

Jisung laughed and smoked the last of the joint, snuffing it out in the ashtray on the small table between them. Minho got up heavily and stretched his arms above his head with a groan.

“Well, I’m hittin’ the hay,” he said, and Jisung nodded in agreement. “Don’t forget to lock this door when you come in. You always forget.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” Jisung said sarcastically. “Goodnight.”

“‘Night.” Minho squeezed himself by, and Jisung couldn’t help but notice a certain shape moving behind the fabric of his sweat pants. He was reminded of what that girl at the party, Jasmine, had said, and suddenly his thoughts were moving too fast for him to keep track of them.

When he finally went back inside, he forgot to lock the door. Again.


	2. X

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello luvlies! ^^
> 
> Thank you for the love on the first chapter of this story! This is something I just decided to write on a whim, so I hope you all enjoy it. Let me know what you think, your comments motivate me to keep writing :)
> 
> I should mention, in case it wasn't already obvious, this is a NON-COVID AU, so they exist in a magical alternate timeline where there is no worldwide pandemic and crowds of people are freely allowed. Unfortunately, we do not live in their timeline, so please remember to wear your masks, wash your hands, and stay safe out there!
> 
> Also, if anyone's interested, I have a Twitter! You can follow me @reineard where I will be posting sneak peeks and updates for upcoming chapters. Also, I post funny stuff sometimes, and I will follow you back ^^
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "X" by The Jonas Brothers ft. Karol G!
> 
> I love you all and I hope you enjoy this chapter!  
> Happy reading~

_He said ooh,_  
_Kiss me like your ex is in the room._

Jisung was awoken what felt like too early that morning by his phone ringing loudly on the table beside him. He buried his face in his pillow, not even willing to muster up the energy to answer the call, and sighed happily when the noise stopped. Unfortunately, though, the caller was persistent, and his phone started ringing again almost immediately after.

Groaning loudly, he shuffled to the edge of his bed and picked up his phone, squinting at the far-too-bright screen. It was Hyunjin calling, of course. He grudgingly answered.

“Do you have _a clue_ what time it is?” Jisung complained. He heard giggling come from the other end.

“It’s eight o’clock,” said Hyunjin, “which means it’s wake-n-bake time! Do you have work or class this morning?”

Jisung sighed. “No work today, no class until later. Are you high already?”

“Barely. I was waiting for you. Kinda,” Hyunjin replied. “We’re at Chan’s place. There’s snacks and stupid TV, and Felix brought his piece. So hurry up.”

Jisung stretched his neck and rubbed his shoulder to relieve the ache. “Okay, okay, I’ll be there in a bit. Save me a nug.”

He hung up and forced himself out of bed, wriggling to unbunch his clothes from around his limbs. He stood up and heard several of his joints cracking. He found a few articles of clothing laid across his floor that were still passably clean and got changed, ruffling his hair and walking out into the living room. Minho was already awake, wearing pinstripe pajama pants and a black t-shirt, laying out like a log on the couch with his tired eyes trained on the TV, munching absentmindedly on some cereal. Jisung glanced at what was playing, and grimaced.

“Ew, you’re watching _The View_?” he said judgingly, burying his hands in his pockets. “Who are you, my mom?”

Minho chuckled, not looking at him. “Good morning to you, too. Y’know, I actually like to know what’s going on in the world. They’re talking about Trump.”

“Double ew.” Jisung made his way toward the bathroom, then turned back. “No work today?”

“For once, no. Just class later. And I’ll be in the dance studio this afternoon,” Minho said. He looked up at Jisung, his mouth bent into a squarish smile. Jisung felt his insides do that somersault thing, and escaped into the bathroom.

After about ten minutes of trying, he found there was nothing he could do about his bedhead, so he hid it beneath a beanie before collecting his bag and his shoes and heading for the door. Momentarily, he considered inviting Minho to the wake-n-bake, but decided against it. He seemed comfortable on the couch, anyway, and probably needed the rest.

“See ya later,” he said. Minho waved him good-bye and he went, shivering slightly when he got outside. It was definitely getting colder, a reminder that fall was starting, meaning winter was right around the corner. Though he had a license, he didn’t own a car, but luckily Chan’s apartment building wasn’t far. He walked the five-and-a-half blocks in serene content, listening to his ‘sweater weather’ playlist.

When he got to the building, he buzzed Chan’s suite. It was Changbin who answered, his voice crackling through the receiver. He sounded normal, albeit his words came out a little slower than usual.

“Who is it?” he asked in a sing-songy tone. 

“Me. Jisung,” he answered. “Let me in, it’s cold.”

“What’s the password?” he heard Hyunjin yell from someplace further into the apartment.

“Shut up, that’s the damn password,” Jisung grumbled. “Let me the fuck inside.”

He heard the door buzz and let himself in, letting out a breath as the indoor warmth enveloped him. Chan lived on the sixth floor, in a small one-bedroom that his parents helped him pay the rent for. Technically, there was no smoking allowed in or around the building, but somehow he got away with hosting these stoner get-togethers almost weekly. He heard Hyunjin’s voice in his head saying _“Welcome to Los Angeles.”_

As soon as Chan let him in, the smell of weed hit him like a train, knocking him back a step. He blinked incredulously and exclaimed, “Jesus H. Christ, _how_ have you not been evicted yet?”

Chan, red-eyed and hyped on sativa, giggled for a little too long. “We’re only smoking out on the balcony but, y’know, the smell lingers.”

“Fuck yeah, it does,” Jisung muttered as he made his way to the living room. The couch was hogged by Hyunjin, Felix, and Changbin’s sprawled-out bodies and the coffee table was messily covered in Coke cans, open chip bags, Snickers bars, and a container of freshly-baked brownies courtesy of Felix. No sooner had he dropped his bag on the ground when Hyunjin sprung up from his place and started tugging him by the arm toward the balcony.

“C’mon, these guys are already sky-high, we got some major catching up to do,” he urged. Then he paused and turned to Felix. “Lix, your piece?”

Felix, ‘sky-high’ as Hyunjin had put it and engrossed in the episode of Family Guy that was playing, took a moment to respond. “Huh? Oh, right.”

He stretched to reach his bong that was on the floor next to the coffee table and carefully passed it over. It was clear Cheech & Chong glass decorated with numerous stickers—an Australian flag, a weed leaf, a sketch of Bob Marley, a ‘Thrasher’ logo, and other things. Hyunjin took it gingerly by the neck and started for the sliding door.

“Hey, two hands on that thing, mate,” Felix called out. “Cost me a hundred-and-eighty big ones, that. You break you buy.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hyunjin scoffed and made a show of putting his other hand on the bottom and hugging it close to his chest. Felix nodded approvingly and laid back on the couch.

Once outside, Hyunjin sat on one of the chairs with a sigh, then set the bong gently on the ground between them. Jisung took the seat beside him and studied the glass beaker—the water inside was quite dirty, indicating it had already been well-used, and he noted that the downstem needed a clean. Felix definitely spared no expense when it came to his smoke material, sporting a crystal bowl piece and a perc for added smoothness. 

Hyunjin extended a flattened palm toward him, and balancing atop his fingers was a medium-sized nug that was more purplish than green. He said, in an exaggerated formal tone, “Your bud, as promised, my Liege.”

Jisung rolled his eyes. “Mm, thanks. What strain?”

“Purple Haze, duh,” Hyunjin snorted. He picked up the black Puff Puff Pass grinder that was probably Chan’s off the table and opened it, stuffing the whole nug inside and grinding it into bits. “You want kief too?”

Jisung shrugged. “Eh, sure, why not?”

“Yessir,” Hyunjin said, taking the bowl piece and filling it almost to the brim with green before piling kief on top. Replacing the bowl, he passed the bong to Jisung.

Jisung took it and sat it in his lap. “Are you trying to fucking kill me? This is packed so fat, it’s gonna knock me on my ass.”

“Nah, it’s sativa, you’ll be bouncing off the walls,” Hyunjin teased. “I dare you to rip the whole thing.”

“ _Fuck_ no, I’m sharing it with you,” Jisung stated firmly. “Lighter?”

Hyunjin pulled one from his pocket and passed it over. Jisung took it and fit his lips to the bong, sucking lightly so the water inside bubbled, and lit the green thoroughly. Once smoke collected inside the glass he inhaled deeply until it filled his lungs, then lifted his head and blew a huge cloud into the air, managing only a light cough as he passed the bong over.

“Nice,” Hyunjin commented before finishing what was left in the bowl. The buzz hit Jisung immediately, rushing to his head and making him feel like he could float. After blowing out his smoke, Hyunjin wasted no time refilling the bowl, his tongue caught between his teeth.

“ _More_?” Jisung asked, exasperated. Reality already felt blurred for him, but perhaps Hyunjin being a more seasoned smoker meant it took a bit extra.

“You asked me to save you a whole nug, now you’re stopping at one toke?” he laughed. “Suit yourself. I’ll finish this if you won’t.”

Jisung shook his head. “Nah, nah, gimme some of that. I want this high to last.”

Hyunjin nodded and lit his second hit. Jisung finished it off, and as soon as he lifted his head, Hyunjin started to laugh at him, a little too much. 

“What? _What_?” he asked frantically.

“You got res on your mouth, hold still,” Hyunjin said, still shaking with giggles. He brought his sleeve up to Jisung’s lips and thoroughly wiped the corners, nodding in satisfaction when he was done. “There. All better.”

“Thanks,” Jisung said. They made their way back inside, Hyunjin carrying Felix’s piece extra-carefully, and they found that a dance party had ensued in their absence. Family Guy was still going, though the volume had been turned down, and Changbin was playing what sounded like a Pitbull song on his phone. 

Hyunjin set the bong down and joined the others in dancing stupidly, flinging his head around in circles. Just watching him made Jisung feel dizzy, so he sat down on the couch and swayed his torso lightly so that he could join the fun with as little effort possible. The party was interrupted by a knock at the door, and when Chan opened it, Minho strolled in all-too-casually, raising his eyebrows at the scene.

“Y’all thought you could have a jam without me? Shameful,” he announced, shimmying his way in. Jisung’s throat went dry at the sight of him—or maybe it was just cottonmouth. He suddenly felt extremely awkward for having not invited him, and started mentally kicking himself.

Changbin set his phone down, replacing it with Felix’s bong. He gestured to Minho and said “Come smoke with me, I need another hit anyway.”

“Grinder’s half-full,” Hyunjin called out. Changbin gave him a thumbs-up.

The pair of them went outside, Minho not even giving Jisung a glance as he passed by. Jisung turned to Chan as soon as they closed the sliding door behind them. “You didn’t tell me you were going to invite him!”

“I wasn’t really planning on it, but he texted me asking ‘what’s up,’ so . . .” Chan shrugged. “Why? Is it a problem?”

Jisung huffed. “Kinda! I didn’t tell him where I was going. Now I feel like such an asshole.”

Felix waved his hand dismissively. “Pssh, it’s fine, I doubt he holds it against you. Here, have a brownie and cheer up.”

Jisung took one of the treats from the container, but paused before taking a bite. “Wait. What _kind_ of brownies are these?”

“They aren’t loud brownies, if that’s what you mean,” Felix answered. “Today is _not_ an edibles day. I wouldn’t make it to class.”

Jisung twitched his eyebrows acknowledgingly and dug in, finding himself suddenly very hungry. He’d scarfed down four of the chocolatey squares by the time Changbin and Minho returned, the former setting down Felix’s piece before turning the music off and the TV volume up. Minho shambled in after him and landed heavily beside Jisung, his eyes hooded and his arms stretched over the back of the couch.

“Ugh, this water’s gross,” Felix muttered to himself, taking his bong to Chan’s sink and dumping it out. Changbin sat down beside Hyunjin and switched to a different Family Guy episode, one Jisung had seen a few times before—the two-part murder mystery special at the start of Season Nine.

Minho laughed giddily. “Ah, I love this one!”

Jisung felt extremely stiff with Minho so close to him, especially in his inebriated state. He sat forward with his back straight as a board, because if he leaned back he would be resting against Minho’s arm, and they weren’t anywhere near close enough for him to do that. His hands rested atop his legs, fingers tapping against his knees, and he tried to quiet his mind and focus on the TV. He found he could not.

“You look uncomfortable, lean back a bit,” Minho suggested. Then, he made a sound of realization. “Oh, is my arm in the way? Sorry.”

He moved his arm and shuffled aside a bit, inviting Jisung to get comfy. Feeling pressured, he did, splaying back on the couch and snuggling into place. Even though he’d moved, their shoulders were still just barely touching, Jisung’s skin tingling at the proximity. _This_ was why he hadn’t invited Minho in the first place—he was already high and unable to focus, and Minho’s presence only made it increasingly worse, for reasons he still couldn’t decipher. That bothered him more than anything.

They all sat in relative silence for a while, basking in their mutual high, sort-of-watching episode after episode after episode. Eventually, Chan stood up and stretched. “I’m popping out for a durry. Anyone wanna join?”

“Me!” declared Minho, hopping up from his place.

Although Jisung should’ve felt relief at the opportunity to be away from Minho, he found he wasn’t, and his body moved before his mind could catch up. “I’ll also come,” he said.

The three of them went out to the balcony once more, Chan passing each of them a cigarette and lighting them one-by-one. Minho leaned his elbows on the railing, face turned slightly up toward the sky. Jisung watched him absently, studying his prominent jawbone and long lashes, watching his lips part slightly to push out a thin line of smoke. The wind pushed his hair to the side and the morning sunlight shone on his face, revealing the pretty brown undertones in his eyes. Jisung had forgotten about the cigarette pinched between his fingers.

Suddenly, Minho turned his head to meet his gaze. “Hm? What?”

“Uh— Oh, nothing,” Jisung choked out, turning his head away in embarrassment and taking a long drag to seem collected. His cheeks flushed warmly, he added, “Sorry I just . . . zoning out, y’know?”

Minho smiled, and just seeing that in his periphery made Jisung’s heart beat a little too hard. Or maybe it was just the weed. 

Chan broke the tension. “So, Minho, how’s Jamie? You guys still together?”

Minho turned to him and made a face. “Hell, no. We broke up a while ago. Good riddance, honestly.”

Jamie? Jisung had never heard that name. He’d never even been aware Minho was dating anyone. He’d also never met a girl named ‘Jamie’ who wasn’t extremely hot. He felt some kind of burning emotion bubble in his chest. It wasn’t quite anger, it was something else, something he couldn’t name.

By the time they headed back inside, he was still deep in thought. Who was this ‘Jamie’? What did she look like? How did her and Minho meet? Had they been happy together? Why had they broken up? Had she dumped Minho, or had Minho dumped her? He had so many questions, but didn’t feel it was his place to ask any of them, and besides the subject had long since passed. He decided perhaps he would ask Hyunjin later, when they were alone.

Minho left at around noon, followed by Changbin, and then Felix soon after. Jisung left with Hyunjin and stopped at home for a quick, sobering shower and a change of clothes—he wasn’t about to show up to class stinking of weed. He managed to make it to his lecture just in the nick of time, and by then his head had cleared sufficiently, and he pushed all his rambling thoughts aside in favour of paying close attention to the professor. God knows he needed the grades.

***

9월 25일, 3:33 오후  
형 바빠요? (Hyung are you busy?)  
도서관에서 공부하고 싶어요? (Do you want to study in the library?)

After class had ended, Jisung had shot Hyunjin a text, still itching to ask him about Minho’s secret love life. Or perhaps it wasn’t so secret, and Jisung was simply worse than he thought at learning about his roommate. Or perhaps it was both. He waited in the hallway for a response, but one didn’t come. It occurred to him that Hyunjin was probably at the dance studio, and thus away from his phone. Jisung fixed his backpack over his shoulders and elected to make his way there.

The studio in question was in another building across the field, where all the theatre and performing arts classes took place. It was, for the most part, another world to Jisung, aside from the recording booths he’d visited with Chan and Changbin a few times. He found what he was looking for, a fogged glass door with the words DANCE STUDIO #2 printed on it, and he opened it a crack, just enough to get a peek inside.

Hyunjin, Felix, and Minho were all there, focused on the mirrored wall in front of them as they practiced complicated choreography to the EDM track that was blasting through the speakers. Hyunjin had his hair tied back to keep it out of his face, and Minho took the center position, all stiff brows and fierce eyes, his movements calculated and precise. He was like a machine, yet somehow very elegant, and Jisung found himself transfixed.

When the song ended, Felix plopped to the floor in exhaustion while Hyunjin and Minho high-fived each other. Jisung couldn’t take his eyes off Minho. He watched him cross the room to grab a bottle from his bag and chug from it, a trickle of water trailing down his chin. Then he took a towel and dabbed it against his sweat-sheened neck and forehead, all the while picking up the bottom of his shirt to fan himself off with it. Jisung _did not_ look at his heaving—and beautifully sculpted—stomach, his muscles toned and tight and just as sweaty as the rest of him.

“Hey, Jisungie. What are you doing here?” Hyunjin asked. He had stopped in the middle of the room, water bottle in one hand and a towel slung over his shoulder.

Jisung had almost forgotten why he’d come in the first place. Shaking his head, he simply stated, “I was looking for you. You didn’t answer my text.”

“Oh. Sorry, we were just warming up,” Hyunjin expressed. “What’s up?”

“ _That_ was a ‘warm-up’?” Jisung mumbled, shocked. “Er, I was just wondering if you wanted to come study with me? In the library?”

Hyunjin made a sympathetic face. “Ah, sorry, Jisungie, I can’t right now. We’re planning to keep dancing here for another hour or so, then I have class after. Another time, yeah?”

“O-Oh, okay. Yeah.” Jisung tried to hide his disappointment. It probably didn’t work.

“But, hey, you’re turning up to that frat party tonight, right?” Hyunjin asked. “Zeta Delta Phi always throws _crazy_ bangers, you have to be there.”

Jisung snorted. “ _Chyeah_ , of course I’m going. Are we pregaming or just going straight there?”

“Straight there. If we pregame before a _Zeta Delta Phi_ party, we’ll end up in a coma. I’ll pick you up at, say, nine-ish?”

“Sounds good.” Jisung turned to leave, but not before one final look at Minho. He was listening in without making it look like he was, turned away but with his gaze pointed at Jisung. His eyes were narrowed in intrigue, his hair sticking to his forehead and his breathing coming out in hefty puffs, his brows bunching and unbunching with each inhale and exhale. He looked so beautifully dangerous that Jisung tripped on his way out.

***

It was around nine o’clock, and Jisung was styling his hair in the bathroom mirror, fiddling endlessly until it looked just right. He was wearing tight ripped jeans, a printed tee, and a jean jacket with a tiger embroidered on the back and the sleeves rolled up. He also wore a watch loosely around his wrist, so it slid up and down his arm whenever he moved. He’d been feeling strange all day, choked and backed-up, so he planned to pick up a pretty girl at the party and get his rocks off. He badly needed it.

Hyunjin texted that he was outside, so Jisung made his way to the door, putting on his most expensive shoes. At that moment, Minho came out of his room and leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed leisurely. He wore a white graphic t-shirt tucked into belted blue jeans, and had his hair styled in waves across his forehead. 

“You going to that party?” he asked evenly.

Jisung nodded. There was a feeling lodged in his stomach—guilt, probably. He still felt bad about that morning, about not inviting Minho to Chan’s place, about excluding him. So, he made a split-second decision, and said, “Do you wanna come, too?”

Minho pushed himself off the door frame and put both hands in his back pockets. He seemed pleased. “I’d like to, if that’s alright?”

Jisung swallowed awkwardly. “A-A lot of people are going, it’s an open house. Come if you want to, Hyunjin’s driving.”

Minho nodded. He disappeared back into his room for a moment, returning with a hoodie slung over his arm. He turned the light off and approached. “Okay. Let’s go.”

They were climbing into the back of Hyunjin’s car soon after. Momentarily stunned, Hyunjin twisted his body around in his seat. “Minho? You’re coming too?”

“Yeah. Got nothing better to do,” Minho said.

Satisfied, Hyunjin put the car in gear with a shrug and started driving. Zeta Delta Phi had a house on the other end of campus, just far enough away from Jisung’s own apartment that he was already dreading the walk back. When the car pulled in front, the lawn was relatively empty, only a couple of boys gathered on the porch around the open front door. As they approached, the boys came forward with their hands outstretched to stop them.

One of the boys, a tall and well-built jock type with permed hair and a lit cigarette in his hand, spoke first. “Halt, there, gentlemen! Should you wish to party with Zeta Delta Phi, you must first prove you can take the heat. Scotty! Bring us three shots!”

Another boy with black hair and a middle-part—Scotty, presumably—sped off into the house, returning minutes later with three overflowing shot glasses. Jisung and Hyunjin paused, staring at Scotty with dumbfounded expressions. They’d never had to be ‘initiated’ before entering a party, and surely this was taking the piss. 

Minho shrugged nonchalantly and approached Scotty, first turning to the boy with the perm. “All right, pass me that cigarette, will you?”

Ballsy, Jisung thought. The perm seemed amused, handing Minho what he asked for. Minho took one of the shots from Scotty and tossed it back easily, then took a long drag from the cigarette, blowing it out with a contented sigh. Jisung and Hyunjin glanced at each other, brows raised.

The perm nodded approvingly. “I like your enthusiasm. What’s your name, dude?”

“Reno. Like Reno, Nevada,” Minho said, passing him back the cigarette, “and you are?”

“Pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Reno Nevada,” said the perm. “I’m Adam. So, are your friends prepared to face their challenge, or will they not be joining you inside?”

Minho turned on his heels and gave them a questioning cock of his eyebrow. Hyunjin scoffed and took his shot from Scotty. Jisung shook off his nervousness and did the same. They clinked their glasses together and drank from them in unison, stifling a cringe at the taste. Jack Daniel’s, for certain.

“Nicely done,” said Adam, moving aside to allow them passage. Another frat boy came forward and stamped each of their wrists by way to prove they’d passed their initiation. Jisung looked at the stamp—it was three Greek letters; zeta, delta, and phi.

As soon as they got inside, Hyunjin was pulled away by a group of guys that Jisung maybe recognized, or maybe didn’t. He followed Minho closely through the troves of people, resisting the urge to grab the back of his shirt so they wouldn’t get separated, and they ended up at a makeshift bar counter where one of the frat boys was mixing cocktails. 

“What can I get for you?” the mixologist asked.

Minho had to speak loudly to be heard over the music. “A Blowjob!”

Jisung looked at him in shock. Minho looked back and asked, “Do you want one?”

“Huh?” Jisung asked.

“Do you want a Blowjob?” Minho repeated, louder.

“ _Huh_?”

Minho rolled his eyes. “A _Blowjob shot_. It’s Kahlua and Bailey’s topped with whipped cream. You’re technically supposed to take it out of someone’s lap, but you don’t have to.”

Jisung let out an incredulous breath, shaking himself out of where his mind had initially gone. “Uh, yeah sure, I’ll try one.”

“Cool,” said Minho, turning back to the mixologist. “Two Blowjobs, please.”

They were served promptly. The shots did look quite tasty, the Bailey’s Irish Cream sitting neatly atop the layer of dark Kahlua, and whipped cream spilling over the top of the glasses. They toasted their shots, clinking them together and tapping them on the counter before swiftly downing them.

“Wow. A lot smoother than the Jack Daniel’s,” Jisung commented.

“Right?” replied Minho. Then he blinked at Jisung a couple times. “Wait, you got whipped cream on your lip.”

“I do?” Jisung mumbled, wiping the corner of his mouth.

“No, the other— Here, let me.” Minho leaned forward and gently rubbed his thumb over Jisung’s top lip, drawing away to reveal a line of white cream on his finger. He looked at it for a moment before bringing it to his lips and licking it off, humming at the sweet taste.

Jisung was suddenly very, very warm. Was the alcohol getting to him already? There was heat pooling in his stomach and his cheeks and swirling around in his head. It was a sensation very like being drunk, but somehow a lot stronger.

Minho was looking elsewhere, someplace in the distance behind Jisung, his eyes narrowing. “Fuck, my ex is here,” he said darkly.

Jisung’s head sprung up like a groundhog, and he looked around himself. “Who? Jamie? Where?”

“Yeah, Jamie,” Minho grimaced, “over there.”

Jisung turned around to follow Minho’s gaze. Standing by a window was a very pretty girl with straight, blonde hair and long legs, wearing a red slip dress and matching lipstick, talking to a tanned guy in an army-green bomber jacket. Looking at her, Jisung felt that burning emotion again.

“Wow. She’s really pretty,” he said, looking down at his empty shot glass.

Minho made a noise. “Not the girl.”

Jisung looked back up, at the guy the blonde was talking to. He had a blinding smile and hazel eyes, and he stood with cool confidence, one hand half-tucked into the front pocket of his jeans. Turning back to Minho, he blinked furiously, confused. “Jamie is . . . a guy?”

“Yeah,” Minho replied, like it was obvious. “I’m gay. I thought you knew?”

He hadn’t known. Suddenly, a lot of things started to make a lot of sense. The ‘big secret’ the others had been keeping from him, why Chan had said he ‘didn’t know a thing,’ why Hyunjin had turned Kassidi down. Minho was gay. It shouldn’t have been as much of a shock as it was—how could Jisung have lived with him for seven months and not know that? He started to understand what his friends had been telling him. It was embarrassing how little he knew.

Minho was still looking past Jisung, at Jamie, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he looked away with a start, squeezing his eyes shut and muttering, “Fuck, he saw me.”

Jisung glanced back at Jamie, who was staring back at them. Jamie gestured to the blonde and they approached the bar together, and Minho clasped his hand into a fist to brace himself for what was coming.

“Reno? Is that you? Damn, it’s been a while!” said Jamie, far too amiably. “What brings you here?”

Minho plastered a fake smile on his face as he turned around. “Hey. Uh, same as you, I guess. Checking out the party. Kinda lame, right?”

Jamie shrugged. “Zeta Delta Phi parties usually take a bit to kick into full gear, but once they do, it’s unforgettable. Or, very forgettable, depending how much you drink.”

Minho forced a short chuckle. The blonde reached her hand forward and grinned brightly, saying, “Hi, I’m Brooklyn. Are you a friend of Jamie’s?”

Minho scarcely hid an expression of distaste. “Yeah. I’m a ‘friend.’”

“Brooklyn’s my girl,” Jamie expressed flauntingly, and Jisung instantly decided he hated him. 

Brooklyn nodded enthusiastically. “We’ve been dating for a year, it’s been so great. I can’t believe Jamie never mentioned you!”

Jamie looked suddenly awkward, and Minho’s eyes flashed with something Jisung could only describe as hostility, but he quickly choked it down. He said, through gritted teeth, “That’s nice. I’m happy for you.”

“So, uh, who’s this?” Jamie swiftly changed the subject, gesturing to Jisung.

Before he could respond, Minho took Jisung’s hand and intertwined their fingers. He stated, “This is my boyfriend, Peter.”

“I— Uh, yeah.” Jisung decided to go along with it, only to not end up embarrassing Minho. “We’re living together. It’s been _so great_.”

He caught Minho suppressing a cheeky grin at Jisung mimicking Brooklyn. It was Jamie’s turn to force a smile and speak through gritted teeth. “Living together, huh? That’s nice. I’m happy for you.”

There was an uncomfortable stretch of silence, before Brooklyn finally seemed to sense the atmosphere, and she chuckled awkwardly. “Ha, well, um, I guess we’ll see you around, Reno. Nice meeting you.”

Jamie began stepping away, and he added, “Yeah, nice seeing you. We should catch up. I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” Minho said dryly as they left. As soon as they were out of earshot, he made a throwing-up sound. 

“Ew, what a skeez,” Jisung commented, letting go of Minho’s hand gently.

“I know. I can’t _believe_ I ever dated that guy,” Minho responded, disgusted at himself. “I dumped him eight months ago because he wasn’t ‘out.’ He always wanted our relationship to be a secret and I just wasn’t with it. Though, now that I think about it, he was probably just straight and using me to get his rocks off. Ugh.”

“Eight months ago?” Jisung wondered. “But . . . Brooklyn said they’ve been dating for a year?”

Minho’s nostrils flared. “Yeah. Yeah, she did say that.”

Jisung widened his eyes when he realized. A whirlwind of emotion filled him all at once, the simultaneous desire to hug Minho and to beat the shit out of Jamie. He didn’t know why it affected him so much. It was old news, and Minho didn’t seem all that bothered by it, so why should he feel such an intense anger? Minho was only his roommate. It wasn’t his business.

Minho had his head turned away, still looking at Jamie and Brooklyn, who had found a spot by a small round table that Brooklyn sat upon, with Jamie standing between her spread legs. They were kissing, messily, Jamie’s hand tangled in her blonde hair. When they parted, he pointed hazel eyes at Minho, in a way that was almost snarky.

“Asshole! He’s totally dangling her in front of you!” Jisung hissed, his hand squeezing tightly around his shot glass. “Or _she’s_ dangling _him_ in front of you, I’m honestly not sure.”

Minho was quiet, looking down at the bar counter. He tapped his fingers restlessly. “Is he still looking over here?”

Jisung scoffed. “Of course he is. Trying to make you all jealous. The nerve of this prick! God, I could just—!”

“Sorry, Jisung,” Minho whispered. Before Jisung could ask what he meant, Minho turned and grabbed his jacket with both hands, pulling him in and pressing their lips together in a sloppy and hurried kiss. Jisung reacted before he could think, his arms wrapping themselves around Minho’s waist and tugging him closer so their hips ground together, tilting his head to catch more of his lips. His body’s temperature rose dangerously high, and for those few sweet seconds, they were the only two people in the room.

Then Minho pulled himself away and Jisung’s eyes snapped open, and he realized what he’d just done. He went from hot to cold, frozen in place, as the music and background bustling noise resumed around him, heart thumping so loudly he could hear it in his ears. He looked back at the round table, where Jamie glared at him, before taking Brooklyn gently by the wrist and leading her away, out of sight. 

“Sorry. Sorry, Jisung, shit, I’m sorry,” Minho mumbled, rubbing his face with his hands. “Using you to make that fuckhead jealous . . . God, I’m so stupid, sorry . . .”

Jisung’s mouth was dry, his words caught in his throat, rendering him speechless. He coughed, trying to compose himself, and blubbered, “No, no, I, uh, I get it. And, uh, hey! It worked! So I’m, uh, glad I could be of service.”

Minho smiled weakly and let out a breathy laugh. “It was stupid. It was. I shouldn’t have . . . Anyway, thanks. Let’s just, um, forget this ever happened.”

“Right,” Jisung nodded. “Just forget about it.”

Someone came up behind them and slung their arms around both their shoulders, startling Jisung enough that he let out a yelp and stumbled on his feet. “Hey, hey, hey! Sorry I ditched you guys, I ran into some friends but I’m here now! Let’s get some more shots!”

“Hyunjin! Jesus, you scared me,” Jisung sighed, taking Hyunjin’s arm and throwing it off him. His long hair had come out of its ponytail and was hanging in front of his eyes, he was slurring his words, and he was unsteady on his feet. He was drunk. Very.

“Shots? Okay, I _need_ one,” Minho muttered, notably avoiding Jisung’s eyes.

“Great. I need _two_ ,” Hyunjin said gleefully, sticking his tongue out.

“ _No_ , you need to go home,” Jisung insisted, taking Hyunjin by the shoulders and pushing him away from the bar. “Minho, I’m going to walk him to his place. Will you be fine making it home by yourself?”

Minho nodded, still not looking at him. While it was true Hyunjin needed to be escorted out, more than anything it was an excuse to remove himself from the situation. He still needed time—a lot of it—to process what had just happened. Jisung spent the entire walk to Hyunjin’s apartment talking his friend’s ear off about it—about Jamie, about Brooklyn, and most of all, about the kiss—which he felt comfortable doing because he knew Hyunjin would not remember a word of it tomorrow.

After the long walk to Hyunjin’s and the long walk back to his own apartment, he was completely exhausted, so much so that he couldn’t make it to his own room, deciding instead to collapse on the sofa. He wasn’t even drunk, just bogged down in mind and body, his brain full of thoughts and yet completely blank at the same time. He just sat there, in the dark, unable and unwilling to move. 

What could’ve been hours or just mere minutes later, Minho finally came home, creeping quietly through the door as though he wished not to be heard. When he saw Jisung, he stopped in his tracks like a deer in the headlights, and they stared at each other for several, achingly long moments. Minho rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, chewing his bottom lip. Jisung gulped and looked at the floor.

“W-Welcome home,” Jisung managed to say.

“Yeah. Goodnight,” Minho answered, ducking his head sheepishly and retreating to his room, shutting the door behind him.

Jisung stayed on the couch until he fell asleep.


	3. Rodeo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> I hope you are all enjoying reading this story as much as I am writing it. Your feedback so far has been wonderful and it really motivates me to keep writing, so please let me know what you think about this chapter and/or this story in the comments! I really love hearing from you all :)
> 
> Before, I had it written in the tags that the university they attend is USC (University of Southern California), but I've decided to change it to UCLA (University of California, Los Angeles) because I feel that makes more sense. Pretend it's always been that way!
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "Rodeo" by Lil Nas X!
> 
> Happy reading~

_So what I’m gon’ do?_   
_I don’t have no clue, ain’t no me without you_

Clanking and clattering in the kitchen pulled Jisung from his sleep, and he opened his eyes to find himself still sprawled in a seated position on the couch, exactly where he’d been the night before. As soon as he attempted to move, sharp pains in his neck stopped him, and he brought up a hand to rub the tender area with a wince. That was his punishment for falling asleep with his head drooped all the way back.

When he managed to sit upright, he looked toward the kitchen to see Minho rummaging around in the cupboards. He was wearing his work clothes—a simple white button-up and black pants—and he seemed to be restless, jittery, scuttling around the kitchen like a chicken who’d lost its head. Jisung could tell immediately he’d not gotten enough sleep last night.

Concerned—and hoping the awkwardness from their previous endeavors had subsided—Jisung stood up and took a step toward the kitchen, only to stop mid-pace. There was a discomfort, a dampness, in the front of his pants, and he started to wonder if he’d been so drunk he’d pissed himself overnight. He put a hand to his rear and turned back toward the couch. No, it couldn’t have been that—both his butt and the couch cushion were dry, and he hadn’t drank nearly enough at the party for that to happen. So, if not that, then what?

He waddled into the bathroom and shut the door behind him, stripping his jeans off his legs and pulling the waistband of his boxers out so he could inspect the damage. They were indeed soiled, but not with urine.

Jisung had had a wet dream.

His cheeks flooded with heat, with embarrassment at himself. He felt like he was in grade school again. He was a twenty-year-old man, he hadn’t had a wet dream in years—why now? What begrudged him the most, however, was that he couldn’t at all recollect what he’d dreamt about. The last thing he remembered was watching Minho disappear into his room, and falling asleep sometime after. He shook his head incredulously. He _really_ needed some action.

Jisung slowly crept out of the bathroom only to nearly collide with Minho, who looked at him with a startled expression. Jisung quickly moved to cover his front with the jeans in his hand. He did _not_ want Minho to see the humiliatingly large wet spot on his underwear, or he would be laughed at for sure.

Minho scanned him from top to bottom once, then averted his gaze. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

“N-No, it’s fine,” Jisung stammered. “Off to work?”

Minho nodded. “Coffee shop. Be back later this afternoon.”

“Cool.” Jisung tiptoed in the direction of his bedroom. “See ya later, then.”

“See ya,” Minho mumbled, stalking to the foyer and pulling his shoes on. He left without another word.

Jisung didn’t know if he should be relieved. The awkwardness had not subsided, but at least Minho didn’t appear to have noticed his shame. He quickly changed into fresh underwear and new clothes—Adidas track pants and a hoodie. He felt no desire to dress up. After last night’s ordeal, he needed a relaxing weekend more than anything. With that thought in mind, he shot a text to the one person he knew he could turn to in times of strife.

9월 26일, 9:37 오전  
찬니형 볼 수 있을까요? (Channie-hyung can I see you?)  
릭스를 가져와요 (Bring Lix)  
그리고 인디카 (And indica)

He didn’t wait for a reply. He grabbed his bag, pulled on a pair of old runners, stuck a cap on his head, and went out the door, walking quickly towards Chan’s building with his hands stuffed in his pockets. His phone buzzed by the time he was a block away.

9월 26일, 9:49 오전  
또 담배 피고 싶니? (You want to smoke again?)  
넌 이제 스토너야? (Are you a stoner now?)

Jisung rolled his eyes and didn’t reply. He rang Chan’s apartment when he arrived, and was let in the building promptly, making his way up to the suite with haste. He walked in and lied face-down on Chan’s couch without even saying ‘Hello.’

Chan shut his front door and made his way over, concern showing in his eyebrows. “Okay. Something’s wrong. What’s going on?”

Jisung turned his head sideways. “Is Felix coming?”

“Yeah, I texted him. He said he’ll bring his piece,” Chan replied. “You don’t usually smoke twice in the same week, let alone two days in a row. Did something happen?”

Jisung sighed and shut his eyes. “Had a crazy night. I need to be high before I can talk about it.”

Chan stood up from the couch. He was still in his pajamas, all messy brown hair and sweat pants with a hole in one knee, and he had heavy bags under his eyes that indicated he’d pulled an all-nighter. As long as Jisung had known him, he’d always had trouble sleeping—which was why he often used weed to aid him—but being a third-year college student with mountains of assignments and a creative mind that never stops made it exponentially worse. 

He sat back down and tossed a small plastic bag at Jisung, which landed by his nose. Jisung strained to sit back up and inspect the gift. The baggie was full of green buds of varying sizes, and as he picked it up, he gave Chan a confused look.

“It’s a present. You can have that,” Chan said. “It’s Black Diamond. I like it, but it doesn’t help me sleep so I don’t get a lot of use out of it. Makes me more hungry than tired.”

Jisung raised his eyebrows in a way that was both surprised and appreciative. “Wow, thanks man. Except, I don’t really have anything to smoke this out of at home.”

“Do you know how to roll? I can lend you some papers,” Chan suggested.

“No, I don’t,” Jisung lamented. “Minho does, though.”

Chan nodded. “I’ll give you some rollies. Ask Minho to show you how, or just buy a pipe. Or save it for when you can borrow Felix’s piece.”

“How come you don’t have a piece?” Jisung wondered. “I mean, with the amount you smoke . . .”

“I used to have one. Changbin broke it, remember?” Chan chuckled. “I’m fine with joints for now. I’ve been meaning to buy a new one, though.”

A knock sounded at the door, and Chan went to let Felix in. He was wearing a long-sleeved Off White shirt tucked into joggers and carried a heavy backpack, and he smiled sunnily at the sight of Chan. They hugged, then came to join Jisung on the couch.

“So I’m seeing you again, huh? That’s three times this week,” said Felix. “I guess we’re friends now?”

Jisung smiled slightly. “I guess we are.”

“Hell yeah.” Felix grinned. “You got the bud? Chan, bring water and a lighter and meet us on the balcony.”

“You got it, Chief,” said Chan.

Jisung and Felix took their seats outside, and Chan joined them shortly after with the requested supplies. Felix filled up his bong with water while Chan ground up some of the Black Diamond, and they took turns sharing a bowl. 

“So, are you gonna tell us what’s going on?” Chan asked while filling up a second bowl. When he was done, he passed the bong to Felix, who lit it and took the first hit.

Jisung sucked his teeth. “Eh, I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

Felix blew out a cloud of smoke and passed his piece to Jisung. “Being secretive, huh? C’mon, spill.”

“I don’t even know where to start. Or if I even _can_ talk about it. It feels like something no one should know about,” Jisung rambled, flicking the lighter on and off. He felt stupid saying it. The kiss didn’t exactly happen privately—everyone at the party saw it happen, and he’d already told Hyunjin everything, even though he likely doesn’t remember.

“Would it help if we told our secrets first?” Felix asked. “Yeah, let’s make a pact. We’ll each tell a secret, and if anyone spills, the others get to tell _their_ secrets. That way, we know we can trust each other.”

Jisung ripped what was left in the bowl, exhaling with a light cough. Chan scowled, muttering, “Hey, you were supposed to save me some.”

“Chan? Any secrets?” Felix pressed.

Chan took the bong from Jisung and began preparing another hit. He shrugged. “I’m a pretty open book, but let’s see. Um . . . Oh, well, I watch My Little Pony from time to time. It’s actually a good show. Makes me feel, I dunno, happy?”

Felix nodded approvingly. “I can respect that. My secret is . . . I am bisexual.”

“That’s not a secret,” Chan said flatly.

“Well! I don’t exactly flaunt it!” Felix shouted defensively. “Fine. I also lean more towards men. Is that sufficient enough for you?”

Chan giggled and gave a thumbs-up while he took his hit. When he was done, he set the bong down and turned to look at Jisung. Felix mimicked him, and Jisung felt his palms start to sweat.

“Well, I, um, well . . .” Jisung stuttered. He gulped. “Last night, uh, me and Minho, we . . . We kissed.”

Chan and Felix, in unison, leaned so far forward in their seats they almost fell over, their eyes wide and their mouths hanging open in a dramatic display of shock. Gripping the armrests of his chair, Felix sputtered out, “Y-You and Minho . . . You _what_?”

“Calm down, let me explain,” Jisung said, scratching nervously at his scalp. “So, basically, uh, we were at this party with Hyunjin, y’know over at Zeta Delta Phi? And, um, well, Hyunjin got separated from us, so we were over by the bar, and then, um, Minho saw his ex there—”

“Jamie?” Chan interjected.

“Yeah, Jamie,” Jisung affirmed, “he was there with his girlfriend Brooklyn, whom I think he’d cheated on Minho with, or he’d cheated on her with Minho, I’m not sure exactly—”

“Yeah, okay, get to the point,” Felix insisted.

Jisung swallowed thickly. “Okay, so, uh, Brooklyn and Jamie were being total sleazy assholes, y’know, being all kissy and trying to make Minho jealous, and Minho wanted to get back at them, so he, um, pretended I was his boyfriend and then he, well, he kissed me, y’know, to make Jamie jealous. And uh. That’s it.”

Chan leaned back in his chair, puffing out his cheeks. “Whew, you got me riled up for a second there. So you guys only kissed as a sort of fake revenge plot, you don’t have a ‘thing,’ right?”

“No! No, I’m straight,” Jisung said quickly, ending in a nervous chuckle. “And, besides, you know me. I don’t have any ‘things.’ I’m detached, remember?”

Felix let out a short breath. “Still, you’re lucky, man. Minho’s hot. Like, crazy hot. I’ve also heard he’s a good kisser.”

“Yeah, uh—” Jisung coughed. “Yeah. He is. But, like I said, I’m straight, so I’m not like, into him. Or anything.”

Chan looked at him despairingly. “Jeez, he’s your roommate, though. It must be awkward between you guys, right?”

“It’s _very_ awkward,” Jisung agreed. “That’s why I needed to smoke, it was suffocating to talk to him this morning. What’s weird, though, is _he_ seems more embarrassed about the kiss than _I_ am, when _he_ was the one who initiated it. Like, I’m willing to move on, but he can’t even look me in the eyes.”

“Maybe he _likes_ you,” Felix said, waggling his eyebrows and nudging him.

Jisung scoffed. “Shut up, no way. Why would he? We’re barely friends, there’s no way he’d like me like that.”

“Oh, now you’re _barely_ friends? Before you were ‘ _not_ friends,’” Chan said, a teasing lilt to his tone. 

Felix clasped his hands together excitedly. “Aw, they’re bonding! How romantic!”

“Shut _up_ ,” he laughed, giving Felix a playful shove.

“Okay, boys, no roughhousing,” Chan scolded. “Have you eaten yet, by the way?” Jisung shook his head. “I’ll cook you something.”

They made their way inside while Felix dumped the bong water off the balcony. Jisung sat on the couch and turned on the TV, switching to Netflix. There were three profiles to choose from, affectionately labeled ‘Account Owner,’ ‘Parasite 1,’ and ‘Parasite 2.’

Jisung leaned his head back and called out in the direction of the kitchen, “Who else has your Netflix?”

“You mean the Parasites? Number One is Changbin, Number Two is Felix,” Chan replied. “They think that because my parents pay most of my rent that means I should pay for their damn TV.”

Felix entered and shut the sliding door behind him. “Hey, you use my bong, I use your Netflix. Fair’s fair.”

“Uh-huh,” Chan hummed, returning from the kitchen with three bowls of Lucky Charms cereal. 

Jisung looked down at the bowl handed to him. “This is ‘cooking’?”

“Eat,” Chan ordered.

Jisung shrugged and dug in, shoving a big spoonful in his mouth. Chan had been right when he’d said Black Diamond made him ‘more hungry than tired.’ “Hey, think I could snag your Netflix password? I’d be _honoured_ to be Parasite Three.”

Chan gave him a pointed look. “Doesn’t Minho pay for the Netflix at your place?”

“ _Yeah_ , but Minho works three jobs. I mean, c’mon, help a brother out,” Jisung pleaded.

Chan hummed, amused. “Three jobs, huh? He can pay.”

Jisung snickered dumbly into his cereal. Just then, his phone rang, buzzing loudly in his pocket. He dug it out and looked at it—a call, from Hyunjin.

“G’morning, champ,” he answered, holding his phone to his ear with his shoulder. “How ya feelin’?”

“Like a runny shit,” Hyunjin complained, groggily. “Hey, do me a favour. Next time I agree to a drinking competition with Kade Arbour, talk me out of it.”

“I don’t even know who that is, but I’ll do my best.” Jisung laughed.

“Wanna grab coffee? I need to shake this hangover,” Hyunjin requested, followed by about a dozen swear words as several metal objects clattered to the floor. He muttered, “I’m gonna kill my fucking roommate, beat his ass, teach him to overfill these damn cupboards, goddamn it—”

Jisung bit his finger to quiet his giggling. “Yeah, sure, I’m down for that. I’m at Chan’s right now, want to meet me here?”

Hyunjin let out a long sigh. “Okay, I’ll be right over. Deuces.”

He hung up. Jisung pocketed his phone and looked up to see Felix had snatched the remote and was flipping through the Comedy genre, head supported by his fist and his eyes hooded in a way that said he wasn’t paying attention to the options. Chan finished his cereal and set his bowl down on the table, then leaned back and put his hands behind his head.

“Who’s coming over?” he asked absently.

“Hyunjin,” Jisung answered. “Fire up the Lucky Charms, he’ll probably need some. Oh, and an Advil.”

Chan nodded and stood up, but before he went, he told Felix, “Put on an episode of Shameless.”

Felix looked at him with a silly grin. “Yeah? Sure you wouldn’t prefer My Little Pony?”

“Hey! You can’t use that against me. I told you that in confidence,” Chan pouted.

Hyunjin arrived promptly. He had a black shirt and basketball shorts on and carried his skateboard under his arm, and his hair—though covered by a beanie—was an absolute wreck. He dropped his board on the floor with a thud and sat down heavily next to Jisung, quickly taking the Advil that Chan had left out for him.

“How you holding up?” Jisung asked him.

Hyunjin spoke through a mouthful of Lucky Charms. “Terrible. My head is killing me, dude. And I threw up _twice_ this morning. What’re you guys watching?”

“Yikes,” said Felix. “We’re watching Shameless. This guy Kash pulled a gun on this kid Mickey because Mickey stole from his convenience store, but Mickey took the gun so now Ian has to get it back before Kash’s wife finds out.”

“Huh. Cool,” Hyunjin muttered. “Did you empty the bong already?”

Felix nodded. “You can refill it and go take a hit if you want. There’s still some green left in the grinder.”

Hyunjin stood up and took the bong to the sink, mumbling, “Sheesh, gotta do _everything_ myself . . .”

He departed to the balcony for a smoke. Once the door was shut behind him, Chan leaned toward Jisung and asked, “Does he know? About the kiss?”

“Um, sorta?” Jisung shrugged. “I told him everything last night, but he was so drunk I don’t think he remembers it. So, don’t bring it up.”

Chan hummed understandingly. They watched TV in silence, Jisung’s mind melting away from him. He didn’t like the quiet. Without a distraction, he ended up thinking about the kiss again. The plush of Minho’s lips, the way his waist felt trapped between Jisung’s hands, the flush of their hips grinding together. And the heat, the unimaginable heat, the kind of heat that made him sweat in places he didn’t know he could sweat and his heart beat like he was running. Subconsciously, he licked his lips, the phantom taste of Minho stinging his tongue.

Hyunjin returned, the sound of the sliding door closing snapping Jisung from his thoughts. Hyunjin sat down and asked, “What’d I miss?”

“Ian’s about to get the gun back, but he has to fight Mickey for it,” Felix explained, and Hyunjin nodded boredly. They watched until the episode was over, and as Felix reached for the remote, he glanced at his watch. “Shit, I have work in thirty minutes, I should head out.”

As he stood up, Chan gave him a concerned look. “Aren’t you stoned?”

“ _Very_ ,” confirmed Felix.

“And aren’t you a _line cook_?” Chan pressed.

“Yes, and the burgers won’t grill themselves so . . . gotta go,” Felix said as he started to hurriedly pack up his bong.

Chan shook his head. “Jesus, don’t burn yourself. And if your boss asks why your eyes are red, say your girlfriend just dumped you and you’re, like, _really_ bummed about it.”

“Don’t worry so much, _dad_ ,” Felix huffed. He slung his backpack over one shoulder and headed for the door. “And hey, Hyunjin, I’ll see you at the bar later, eh?”

Hyunjin rubbed his face with both hands and sighed loudly. “Oh, fuck, that was today, wasn’t it? Yeah, I’ll be there. See ya.”

Felix opened the door and waved his goodbyes, and Chan yelled after him, “Give ‘em Hell today, Chef Lix.”

“You know I will.” Felix winked. “They don’t call me the ‘Five-Star Michelin’ for nothing.”

Chan chuckled. “You do know there are only _three_ Michelin stars, right?”

“Bye!” Felix left, the door shutting behind him.

Hyunjin stood up. “We should probably get going too. I need that coffee if I’m gonna make it through today.”

Jisung nodded. They collected their stuff and bid farewell to Chan, heading out onto the sidewalk outside just as a cold breeze blew by. The skies were grey and the clouds above promised rain, dark and billowy without a sliver of blue between them.

“So, Starbucks?” Hyunjin suggested, rubbing his arms to stave off the chill.

Jisung thought for a moment. “Why don’t we go to the place we went to last time? The fancy one?”

“The one Minho works at?” Hyunjin gave him an accusatory glance. “Did you just really like their coffee, or is there some _other_ reason you want to go there?”

Jisung laughed awkwardly. “Ha, what other reason? The coffee was good.”

“Wasn’t _that_ good,” Hyunjin muttered. “Is there something ‘going on’ between you and Minho? Hmm? Anything you wanna tell me?”

“What would be ‘going on,’ exactly?” Jisung challenged.

Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “You kissed last night, didn’t you?”

“Wh— How did you know?” Jisung asked, in a louder voice than necessary.

“Duh, you talked my ear off about it. How could I _not_ know?” Hyunjin derided. “Granted, I don’t remember much ‘cause you were talking so damn fast, but I recall the important bit.”

Jisung rubbed the back of his neck. “Right. Which is?”

“That you kissed motherfucking _Lee Minho_ ,” Hyunjin said excitedly, shoving him. “ _You_ , who loves pussy more than cheesecake, and that is saying something.”

“Hey, you make me sound like some kind of slut,” Jisung mumbled.

“You _are_ a slut,” Hyunjin teased. “Anyway, let’s go see your new boyfriend, shall we?”

“He’s not my—” Jisung started to say, but Hyunjin was already walking away from him. They took the bus to the coffee shop, which was now more populated than it had been before, a lineup trailing out the door.

“You sure you want to wait in this line just to get some overpriced coffee that tastes the same as it does everywhere else?” Hyunjin asked snarkily, putting his foot down on his skateboard and rolling it back and forth.

Jisung stood on his tip-toes to see over people’s heads, looking inside to see Minho at the till taking orders. “Yeah. I don’t mind waiting.”

Hyunjin smirked at him. “Cute. You really want to see him, don’t you?”

“It’s not about him,” Jisung insisted, arms crossed. “I really liked my americano last time. I’ve been craving it.”

“You’re a bad liar,” Hyunjin sang.

Jisung blew air out through his nostrils. He didn’t think he was lying. He really _did_ enjoy the americano before, and it’s not like he really _wanted_ to see Minho—after all, it was so awkward talking to him earlier that morning, and he’d been relieved to be away from him. Minho just happened to work at this coffee shop, and that was simply coincidental. There was nothing more to it than that.

The line moved slowly, and they waited for several long minutes. When there were only two more customers in front of them, Minho looked up and noticed them standing in line, then quickly pretended he didn’t.

“Want me to order for you again? Iced americano, black?” Hyunjin asked.

“Hm? Oh, n-no, I can order myself,” Jisung replied.

Hyunjin hummed, lifting his eyebrows in disbelief. “I don’t know if I should call this ‘character development’ or ‘desperation.’”

Jisung scowled. “Shut it, will you?”

They got to the till, and Minho looked him dead in the eyes. Jisung suddenly got cold feet, shrinking a little into himself. Minho looked down at the iPad in front of him and said, “Hi, Hyunjin. Jisung. What can I get for you?”

“Hey, Minho. How’s work been today?” Hyunjin asked easily. 

“Busy. Can’t really talk. What do you want?” Minho responded dismissively. He had both hands grasping the iPad tightly, and his shoulders were set in a way that showed his discomfort.

Hyunjin whistled almost inaudibly. “Well, I’ll get a latte with a shot of vanilla. Hot. Please.”

Minho nodded and jotted his order down on the iPad. Then he looked up, pointing near-black eyes at Jisung. “And you?”

His gaze hit Jisung like a bolt of lightning, and his throat closed up. He choked, “Uh, I’ll get a, um, iced americano. Er, actually no, a hot americano. Y-Yeah. That’s it.”

Minho nodded slightly. “Black?”

“Um, y-yeah,” Jisung stuttered. 

Minho’s eyebrows twitched as if to say ‘Of course,’ and he punched in the order. “That’ll be $9.71, please.”

“I got it,” said Hyunjin, fishing his card out of his pocket and tapping it on the machine. Jisung smiled thankfully at him.

“Great, thanks. Your order will be ready shortly at the next counter,” Minho said, then looked toward the next person in line and smiled at them. “Hi, how can I help you?”

Once they were far enough away, Hyunjin smacked him on the shoulder and laughed. “Smooth, dude. _Smooth_.”

“Be _quiet_ ,” Jisung hissed, pouting. 

Hyunjin was still laughing. “No, no, I have _never_ seen your game that weak before. What’s going on, man? You okay?”

“I’m fine. And there was no ‘game,’ I’m not interested in him like that,” Jisung persisted. 

Hyunjin laughed harder. “Maybe you can’t see it, but I can. When he looked at you, your eyes were saying ‘Pin me down, take me, ravage me, my body is yours—’”

Jisung shoved him roughly. “ _Shush_! What if he hears you? And they were not, I said I’m _not_ into him.”

They got their coffees, and headed outside to the only free table by the side wall of the shop. When they sat down, Hyunjin took a sip of his latte before setting his elbows down and looking at Jisung seriously. “So, for real, what’s the deal here? As long as I’ve known you, you’ve been straight as a board. What changed? Why Minho?”

“ _Nothing_ changed,” Jisung sighed, rolling his eyes. “I was being serious, I don’t like him like that. At the party, _he_ kissed _me_ , and it was only to make his ex jealous. It was just a display, it didn’t mean anything.”

“Oh, I see. I get it now.” Hyunjin nodded knowingly. “He kissed you to make his ex jealous. For _him_ it meant nothing. But you . . . you liked it. And now you don’t know how to feel about it.”

“I did _not_ like it!” Jisung insisted loudly. Hyunjin had always been a dear friend, but also the friend that he was most afraid of, for his uncanny ability to see right through him. Jisung started to wonder if now Hyunjin was seeing things that weren’t there, or if he was seeing things that even Jisung wasn’t aware of. He didn’t want to think about that. “I mean, I didn’t hate it either. I don’t feel anything about it. It would be like if I was to kiss _you_. I’m indifferent to it, I have no strong feelings either way.”

Hyunjin raised his eyebrows. “Oh, so you’d kiss me, now? You’re getting less and less straight by the second.”

“I wouldn’t kiss you! You’re not listening to me!” Jisung sighed exasperatedly. “Minho and I kissed, yes, but I feel nothing about it. I’m neither disgusted by it nor do I want it to happen again. It’s just a thing that happened, that’s all. I’m still straight.”

“Okay, okay, fine, I hear you.” Hyunjin put his hands up in defeat.

Jisung nodded. He took the top off his cup and looked at the beverage inside. It was steaming hot and smelled wonderful, and the deep brown colour reminded him of Minho’s eyes. He sighed and put the top back on. “The problem is, I mean, you saw it. Minho’s so cold towards me now. I mean, _he’s_ the one who kissed me, and now he’s acting like we had a fight. That’s the part I don’t like about all this.”

Hyunjin’s brows furrowed. “You never cared about your relationship with him before. You didn’t even want to be friends.”

“Yeah. I guess I didn’t. But at least our relationship was comfortable before. Now the atmosphere is all weird. It makes me sad,” Jisung said. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Well, Minho _is_ gay. You know that, right?” Hyunjin asked. Jisung nodded. “So, maybe he’s still coming to terms with having jumped you. His feelings about the kiss are likely much more complicated than yours. I say give him some time, and space. He’ll warm up eventually.”

Jisung shrugged. He didn’t know how much more ‘complicated’ Minho’s feelings could be. The kiss hadn’t meant anything. It’s not like it happened due to attraction or passion, it was just a petty act performed to get back at Jamie. Felix’s words from earlier came floating back to him, but he quickly shook them away. He didn’t want to think about that.

They sat together for a while longer, talking about absentminded things, like how the weather was getting colder and how Hyunjin’s job was going. It was dull but refreshing conversation. After about an hour, Jisung’s phone buzzed, and he checked it to see a text from Changbin.

9월 26일, 1:47 오후  
가도 될까? (Can I come over?)  
좋아하는 담배가 있어 (I have your favourite cigarettes)

Jisung smiled and typed out a reply.

9월 26일, 1:48 오후  
Pall Mall이 있어용~? (You have Pall Malls~?)  
곧 집에 올게요 (I’ll be home soon)  
이리와요 (Come over)

He pocketed his phone. “I should head home. Changbin’s coming over and we’ll probably work on some music. Catch you later?”

Hyunjin nodded and stood up, downing the last of his latte. “Sure thing. Oh, right, I meant to tell you. I’m going for drinks later with Felix and some other people we know from dance. Minho will be there too, or at least he said he would. You should come.”

Jisung perked up. “Where? What time?”

“Seven o’clock at The Dragonmead,” Hyunjin said, “I’ll send you the directions. You can bring Changbin too, or whoever.”

“Cool. I might see you there, I’ll let you know,” Jisung said, even though in his mind he’d already decided on going. So much for his relaxing weekend.

***

Changbin had arrived shortly after he’d gotten home. They’d smoked on the balcony and spent some time working on lyrics for the beat sample Chan provided them. By seven o’clock they’d written several draft pages, and elected to take it up with Chan later to decide on the best lines to keep and which ones to scratch. Jisung got up from the couch and stretched, before heading to his room to pick out some new clothes to wear.

“Where are we going again?” Changbin yelled from the living room. 

“It’s a bar called The Dragonmead Brewery, Hyunjin sent me directions,” Jisung yelled back. “They’re probably all already there, but it’s good to show up fashionably late.”

He picked out a black t-shirt and track pants with white drawstrings, and threw on top a patterned bomber jacket that looked like a Picasso painting. He slung his red headphones around his neck, more for decoration that anything else, and stuck a black baseball cap on his head. They headed out to Changbin’s car and drove downtown, managing to find the bar after several circles around the block. The entrance was small and almost unnoticeable, tucked in between a noodle restaurant and a clothing store. When they got inside, they found Hyunjin among a fairly sizeable group sitting around a table tucked into the back corner of the bar.

“Hey! You made it!” Hyunjin greeted them. He’d changed into ripped jeans and a Stüssy sweater, and had his hair up in a half-pony. “Only thirty minutes late. That’s record time, for you.”

They sat down, and Jisung looked around the table. He only recognized three people there—Hyunjin, Felix, and of course, Minho. He seemed to have come straight from work, still wearing the same white shirt and black pants, but he’d undone two of the top buttons for a more casual look, exposing his collarbones. He was staring at Jisung from across the table with an unreadable expression in his dark eyes, one hand clasped around his cocktail. 

“Everyone, these are my friends Peter and Lewis,” Hyunjin introduced them. “You guys obviously know Felix and Reno, but these strangers are Emmett, Callum, Griffin, Brinley, and Emmett’s girlfriend Summer.”

Jisung smiled politely at them. Brinley, a girl with curly brown hair and a light dusting of freckles, was giving him a flirty up-and-down look, like she either knew him or knew _of_ him. Emmett, a boy who looked slightly older than him and had a boxy jaw, had his arm around Summer, a girl with dirty blonde hair in a messy bun and shiny lip gloss. Griffin was a nerdy-looking redhead with green eyes and glasses, and Callum had lightly-tanned skin and blue eyes that contrasted strikingly with his dark hair. 

“I’m getting another drink,” said Felix, standing up. “You boys coming with?”

Jisung and Changbin nodded, and as they went to follow, Minho stood up and wordlessly joined them. They gathered at the bar to order, and Jisung was immediately overwhelmed by the wide variety of cocktails offered, all with strange names. Felix and Changbin both ordered ‘Milky Killers,’ Minho requested a ‘Fainting Fury,’ and Jisung eventually decided on a ‘Whipped Joker.’

While they waited, Felix turned his back to the bar counter and leaned against it, turning his head toward Minho. “Hey, you think Callum’s into guys?”

Minho made an incredulous sound. “Oh, Jesus. Are you _still_ after him? I’ve told you already, I don’t think so. I’ve only ever seen him with girls. He was dating Sierra Gallant a couple months ago, remember?”

“He’s _hot_ , okay? And you never know, he could swing both ways,” Felix said persistently, sticking out his tongue. “I won’t stop trying until I either bang him or he rejects me outright.”

Minho rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Then try harder. I don’t think he’s even noticed you flirting with him yet. He just thinks you’re friendly.”

“Then I’ll just have to be friendlier,” Felix declared. “Anyway, what about you, huh? Think you’ll take anyone home tonight?”

For a split second, Minho glanced over at Jisung—or maybe that was just his imagination. Minho bit his lip. “I wasn’t planning on it, no.”

“Aw, loosen up. You’ve been celibate, what, since fuckin’ Jamie? You need to get it on,” Felix insisted.

Minho chided, “Right, well, unlike you, I don’t chase after straight boys. I learned the hard way it’s a lost cause. I look for men who are _actually_ gay, which, in boring straight-people bars like this, are hard to find.”

“You never know.” Felix shrugged.

They got their drinks and returned to the table, where Hyunjin had gotten into a rather heated argument with Griffin over whether or not a certain band Jisung had never heard of could be considered ‘classic rock.’ This went on for several more minutes, until they were interrupted by a shrill voice sounding behind them.

“Oh, my God! Hi guys! Crazy seeing you here!”

Jisung turned around. It was Kassidi and Jasmine, two of Olivia’s friends they’d met at Dallas’s house party a couple days ago. They were accompanied by two other girls Jisung didn’t recognize, though he felt he’d maybe seen them around campus before, and they all wore clothes that left little to the imagination. 

“Hey, Kassidi. How’s Olivia?” Hyunjin asked.

“She’s fine,” Kassidi said offhandedly. Her attention had diverted elsewhere. She circled around the table and pressed herself close to Minho. Her voice dropped to an almost sultry tone, “Hi, Reno. How are you?”

Minho looked at her, confused. “Do I know you?”

She almost looked hurt, but shook it off, flipping her hair and pressing even closer, so that her breasts were flush against his arm. “Silly, I’m Kassidi! We’ve met before, briefly, at one party or another.”

Minho pulled his arm away from her. “Okay.”

Watching her, giving Minho glaring bedroom eyes, shoving her cleavage in his face, biting her lips tantalizingly, Jisung felt something rising in his throat that he couldn’t name. Maybe he felt bad for her—she didn’t know that Minho wasn’t remotely interested, and wouldn’t be no matter how hard she tried. Or maybe he was jealous, that girls weren’t throwing themselves at _him_ like that, even though he had no real desire to sleep with Kassidi. Whatever it was, it twisted in his chest and made his fist clench around his glass, and he had the urge to take Kassidi by the hair and tug her off of Minho. Of course he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, do that, so he just looked down into his drink, feeling frustrated and not knowing why.

Kassidi slid Minho’s napkin towards herself and took out a pen from her purse, proceeding to scribble her down number on it and slide it back. “Give me a call sometime, yeah? I think we could have some _fun_.”

Minho forced a smile. “Sure thing.”

Kassidi giggled and fluttered her lashes at him one last time before rejoining her friends, and they departed toward the bar. As soon as she was gone, Minho lifted his glass to his lips and downed half his drink in one gulp, breathing heavily.

Felix laughed loudly at him. “ _Yikes_ , that was awkward as shit! Why didn’t you just tell her? She may never leave you alone if you don’t.”

“I’ll tell her if I have to,” Minho said, and took another gulp from his drink.

Changbin started tapping fervently at Jisung’s arm. He turned to him. “What’s up?”

Changbin leaned in and whispered, “That girl over there’s been staring at you for a little while. She’s pretty cute, huh?”

Jisung looked over. A couple tables down sat a group of girls, one of which was giving him eyes, and she smiled when he met her gaze. He looked back at Changbin and simply said, “Nah.”

“What? Why? Have you already been with her?” Changbin asked.

“No. Just not interested.” He shrugged.

Changbin scoffed. “ _You_? Mr. ‘I’ll-Stick-It-In-Anything-That-Walks,’ _you’re_ not interested?”

“Hey! I don’t just sleep with _anyone_. I’m not really looking for it tonight, that’s all,” Jisung explained.

“How long’s it been since you last got laid?” Changbin wondered.

He thought about it. “Hmm. A few days. Tuesday night.”

“That’s a long time, for you,” Changbin mumbled, eyes wide, “a whole ninety-six hours. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Jisung huffed. He looked across the table and caught Minho eyeing him like he’d been eavesdropping, his dark eyes like a wall, giving nothing away. 

Minho quickly turned to Felix and said, “I’m getting another drink.”

By the time Jisung had finished his own drink, Minho had downed two more, on top of however many he’d had before Jisung’s arrival. He didn’t think about that much, as he was caught up in friendly conversation with Hyunjin’s dance buddies. He learned that Griffin took two classes with Chan, that Emmett and Summer had been dating for a year and a half, and that Brinley had been dancing since she was four. 

Duty called, and he excused himself to use the washroom. It was a dingy one-person toilet in the back next to where they kept extra cases of alcohol. He did his business and came out, to find someone waiting there in the dim light. It was the girl who’d been eyeing him all night, and she pushed herself off the wall and took a couple steps toward him, twirling her hair around one finger.

“Hey there. I caught you lookin’ at me earlier,” she said, her mouth smacking as she chewed loudly on a piece of bubblegum. “I’m Tegan. You?”

As if by instinct, he switched to ‘playboy’ mode, slipping one hand into his front pocket and leaning slightly toward her. “Peter, and I’m pretty sure it was _you_ who was lookin’ at _me_ , was it not?”

Tegan laughed slightly, turning her chin upwards just a bit, so her lips were right up next to his. She smelled of perfume and spearmint, tangy and sweet, exciting to his senses. “So you caught me. What shall we do, then?”

His body was moving on its own, like he was being driven by a force of nature stronger than himself, running on autopilot. This sort of thing came all too easily to him, taking no thought process whatsoever. He stepped forward slowly and backed her against the wall, putting out an arm to trap her there, and turned his head slightly to the side. “I dunno. What shall we do?”

She reacted quickly, closing the distance between them and pressing their lips fiercely together, leaving a lasting minty kiss there. As she was about to pull away, he took her by the waist and kissed her again, deeper, longer, nails digging into her hips. There was no thought behind his actions, just a primal desire from somewhere deep in his being, pushing him further before his mind could catch up.

But something felt wrong. Different. Her kiss was too rough, harsh, almost like being bitten, and her waist felt too thin between his hands. He found himself longing for something that was missing. Softer lips, a kiss that took him somewhere else, somewhere beyond the bar, a kiss that tasted of cigarettes and Kahlua, that made his heart race and his mind melt. What he missed most was the heat. With Tegan, it wasn’t there, and he longed for it like an addict, but no matter how hard he kissed her it didn’t come.

Finally, he pulled himself away, stepping back. Tegan giggled and cupped his cheek, whispering, “Shall we take this elsewhere?”

“No, I—” He sighed heavily, pulling his head away from her. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done this.”

She looked incredulously at him. “What? Do you have a girlfriend or something?”

“No, I just—”

“You just don’t like me? What, I’m not good enough for you?” Tegan cut him off angrily. “Whatever. Suit yourself, asshole.”

She stalked away from him, and he let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. After a moment, he returned to the table, still lost in thought. What was wrong with him? She was pretty, and on any other day he would’ve gladly taken her home and shown her the stars. Something had changed within him, and he didn’t know who or what to blame for it.

“That was a long pee break,” Changbin commented. “I saw that girl follow after you. Something happen?”

“Didja fuck ‘er?” Minho interrupted, very loudly, his words slurred. His eyes were drooping and he had a stupid smile on his face, holding up an empty glass. 

“What? No, I didn’t—” Jisung exhaled. “Nothing happened with her. How much did you drink?”

“As soon as you went off to the bathroom, he started chugging,” Hyunjin said, chuckling. “We couldn’t stop him. He’s fucked, now. Can you take him home? You can borrow my car, I can’t drive right now anyway.”

Jisung put a hand to his forehead. “Yeah. I’ve only had one so I’m good to drive. C’mon, Minho.”

Hyunjin passed him his keys, and he went around the table to take Minho by the arm and help him stand. He said his goodbyes and escorted the wobbly and half-asleep man outside, dumping him in the passenger’s seat of Hyunjin’s car and passing him a plastic bag from the glove compartment. He drove on with the radio playing on low volume, while Minho gazed sleepily out the window, only half-conscious. He parked outside the apartment and tugged Minho along with him all the way upstairs, shoving him inside their suite.

“Jesus, why did you drink so much?” he asked, mostly to himself. He helped Minho remove his shoes and led him to sit down on the couch, but as he turned to leave, his hand was grabbed and he was tugged back to sit next to him.

Minho was giving him pouty eyes. “You went off with that girl, so, so I . . . so, I . . .”

Jisung stared at him, confused. “So, you . . . ?”

“I drank!” Minho shouted. Jisung sighed. He didn’t expect to get an explanation on what that was supposed to mean.

“You need to sleep it off,” he muttered.

It was quiet for a while. Jisung laid his head back and shut his eyes, suddenly feeling tired. He didn’t know how to feel about Minho snuggling up to him, tracing the lines on his jacket with his finger, so he decided to feel nothing. Minho was never this friendly sober, even before they’d kissed. It was no more than a passing moment that Minho would not remember tomorrow.

“Jisung?” he whispered.

Jisung opened his eyes and lifted his head. Minho was staring at him, eyes round, looking at him like he wanted something. He closed a fist loosely around Jisung’s arm, gripping the fabric of his jacket, likely a thoughtless action. His lips were parted, and he was breathing slowly, his eyebrows twisted a little. 

“What?” Jisung asked.

Minho said nothing. He just stared, like he was trying to memorize every one of Jisung’s features. His grip on Jisung’s jacket tightened a little, and Jisung’s breath hitched when he started to lean in, very slowly, eyes fixated just below Jisung’s nose.

Jisung leaned forward, too, eyes half-closed, gaze locked on Minho’s mouth that seemed so much closer now, head feeling fuzzy as the smell of cigarettes and alcohol filled his nostrils. He was close enough now that he could taste Minho’s air, and he started to feel that warmth, that heat he’d desired so much, spiral all around his body, pumping in his blood.

And then Minho’s eyes closed, and he slumped forward, head landing in the crook of Jisung’s shoulder. Jisung’s eyes snapped wide, and he lurched back, only just realizing what had almost happened. He shook Minho slightly, but he had fallen fast asleep, and would probably stay that way until morning. Taking a deep breath, he lifted Minho off the couch and carried him to bed, tucking him in under the covers and closing his bedroom door behind him. 

He retreated to his own room, sitting on the edge of his bed and staring at his hands clasped in his lap. He felt numb. He couldn’t begin to wonder what might’ve happened if Minho hadn’t fallen asleep, he wouldn’t let himself think about that. He instead wondered why. Why had Minho cuddled into him? Why had he called his name? What did he want to say? What did he want to do? The only way he could rationalize it was that Minho was drunk, and acting out of pocket. Still, Felix’s words from that morning rattled in his head, and this time, he couldn’t shake them away.

_Maybe he likes you_.


	4. Working For It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> Thank you for all your comments, kudos, and appreciation for this story so far. I've been managing to get these chapters out fairly quickly thanks to the motivation I receive from your kind words. Please let me know what you think of this chapter!
> 
> HEADS UP (trigger warning):  
> This chapter includes use of date-rape drugs and mentions of rape/sexual assault. There are no graphic depictions and no rape actually occurs, but if you are triggered by allusions of this nature, please be mindful while reading.
> 
> A couple of things I've been meaning to add:  
> \- The songs that the chapters are named after are meant to represent/encapsulate the content of the chapter itself, either through the lyrics or the general feel of the music, so I recommend giving these songs a listen to get the full experience of each installment of this story.  
> \- I am learning Korean as a third language, and honestly I'm not very good at it, so I apologize for any Korean-language mistakes I might make. If you do notice any mistakes please do point them out, it helps my learning :)
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "Working For It" by ZHU, Skrillex, & THEY.!!
> 
> Happy reading~

_You’ve been working here all night long,_   
_Let me see if I can give you better._

Jisung didn’t get much sleep at all that night, waking up several times amidst hazy and forgettable dreams. By six in the morning, he gave up trying, getting out of bed to fix himself a coffee in the kitchen and retreating to the couch to catch up on schoolwork. Sometime after the sun rose, one of Minho’s cats—either Soonie or Doongie, he could never tell them apart—came and made a bed on Jisung’s lap, kneading at his pant leg with her claws. He gave her absentminded pats while he worked, stroking her soft fur and scratching behind her ears. He’d not been a fan of cats before moving in with Minho, but over time they’d grown on him. 

Around ten o’clock, thumping could be heard from inside Minho’s room, and shortly after he came stumbling out, leaning against the doorframe and squeezing his eyes shut. He groaned, loudly, and swore under his breath. Jisung looked up from his laptop, hand paused mid-pat, staring at Minho who started rolling his head in circles to stretch out his neck.

“You’re alive,” Jisung said.

“Barely,” grunted Minho. He came and flopped down on the couch, two cushions apart from Jisung. “How did I get home last night?”

So he didn’t remember anything. It was probably for the best. Jisung replied, “I drove you.”

Minho gave him a confused look. “With what car?”

“Hyunjin’s. He let me borrow it.” Jisung looked down at the cat and started massaging her scruff. “You fell asleep almost as soon as we got in the door, so I put you to bed.”

Minho got a strange expression on his face. “Did anything . . . happen?”

Jisung gulped. “Anything like . . . what, exactly?”

Minho avoided answering. Instead, he shut his eyes and pressed both hands to his temples. “Shit, my head is killing me . . .”

Jisung sighed and lifted the cat off his lap, dumping her in Minho’s. He got up and went to the kitchen, returning with a cup of water and an Advil Extra-Strength. “Take this. You should have it with food, so, I’ll make you some breakfast.”

He went back to the kitchen and popped two Eggo waffles in the toaster. He looked back to see Minho swallow the pill, and he leaned one shoulder against the wall as he asked, “You don’t work today, do you?”

“Not ‘til later,” Minho answered, throat wrought. “I’m bartending tonight.”

So he was a bartender as well as a barista. Now Jisung only had to find a way to slyly learn what his third job was. “Gonna call in sick?”

“No. I need the hours,” Minho said.

Jisung wondered again why Minho worked so hard. Sure, he paid for their Netflix and half of their rent, and sure, he chipped in for groceries and other necessities, but even still, that didn’t warrant needing three jobs. Was he saving up for something? Jisung thought to ask, but Minho didn’t seem to be in the mood for conversation. He decided he’d find out eventually.

The waffles popped out of the toaster. He slathered them with butter and dribbled some maple syrup over them, and even took the time to cut them into pieces before bringing them to the living room and setting them on the coffee table.

“Eat up,” he ordered, “and drink all that water. Hangovers are caused by dehydration.”

Minho held a lingering gaze, then glanced down at the waffles, then back up at Jisung. He asked, with a suspicious edge to his tone, “Why are you doing this for me?”

Jisung shrugged. “Well, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

“We’re roommates,” said Minho.

Jisung froze. He looked down at his feet. “Oh. Right.”

He turned away and walked into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. He chewed his fingernails, cursing himself silently. He’d said something stupid again. Minho was right, they were only roommates, they knew nothing about each other. Hell, Jisung didn’t even know what other job he worked, and he couldn’t even tell the difference between two of his cats. They weren’t much more than strangers to one another.

He got changed, putting on track pants and a white t-shirt and slipping a beanie over his hair. He didn’t have anywhere to go, but suddenly he wanted to be anywhere other than in the house. He pulled on a hoodie and left his room, making for the door, avoiding looking at the couch.

“Jisung?” Minho called him. He turned, and saw Minho with an expression that could be best described as guilt. 

He stuffed his hands inside his pockets. “What?”

“Thanks. For the waffles,” Minho said quietly.

Jisung gave a half-smile and nodded, then put his shoes on and left, making it halfway down the block before pulling out his phone and dialing Felix. It rang three times before he picked up.

“Yeah? Who’s this?” Felix asked.

“It’s Jisung. I got your number from Hyunjin,” he explained. “What are you doing right now?”

“I’m working, I just got in,” said Felix.

“Where do you work?” Jisung pressed.

“The In-N-Out on Gayley, right by campus.”

“Can I come?”

“I mean . . . yeah, it’s a public place.”

“Great,” Jisung finished, hanging up. He jogged there, working up a sweat to fight the autumn chill, and just as he was a few blocks away, he decided to shoot a text to Hyunjin.

9월 27일, 10:59 오전  
In-N-Out에서 만나요 (Meet me at In-N-Out)  
릭스가 작동하는 곳 (Where Lix works)

By the time he got a text back, he was opening the door to the restaurant. Hyunjin had sent him a thumbs-up emoji and nothing more. Jisung chuckled at his phone, then looked around. As it was early, and In-N-Out wasn’t exactly known for their breakfast food, there were scarcely any other customers present—just one older man with a large beard eating at a table alone, and two boys who were probably students ordering at the counter. As Jisung approached, he saw there was only one person at the tills, and it wasn’t Felix. It was a timid-looking boy who appeared to be younger than Jisung, with dark curly hair and a sunny-yet-forced retail smile. The two students stood aside to await their food, and Jisung went up to the till, face turned to the menu above him.

“Good morning. What can I get for you?” asked the worker, whose nametag said ‘Bobby.’ 

“Uh, I’ll get a cheeseburger meal,” said Jisung, leaning to look beyond the counter. “I’m also looking for Felix. Is he in the back?”

Bobby punched his order in, then turned to look behind himself. “I think so. I’ll get him for you.”

He disappeared into the back, returning after a moment with Felix in tow. Felix wiped his hands on his apron and smiled at Jisung, giving him a fist-bump across the counter. 

“Heyo. How’s work?” Jisung asked him.

“It’s good. Slow. I like working mornings, ‘cause no one ever comes in and all the equipment is already clean from the night before,” Felix said. “With no burgers to grill and nothing needing cleaning, I get to sit on my phone. And get _paid_ for it.”

Bobby said to Felix, in Korean, “The boss is gonna catch you one of these days. Then you’re toast.”

“You speak Korean?” Jisung asked, surprised.

“Yes. I’m from Busan,” Bobby replied.

Before Jisung could remark on that, someone came up behind him and grabbed his ass with both hands. He jumped back, ready to swing, only to see Hyunjin’s stupid grinning face staring back at him.

“Jesus! You scared the shit out of me!” Jisung complained. 

Hyunjin laughed. “Hello, boys. You workin’ hard, or hardly workin’?”

“Ugh. I’m going to make your burger,” Felix retreated, rolling his eyes.

Hyunjin was carrying his skateboard under one arm, and in his other hand, his phone and his vape. His hair was down, falling into his eyes, and he was wearing a white long-sleeved shirt tucked into teddy bear pajamas and dirty Vans on his feet.

Jisung looked him up-and-down. “You look like a douchebag. Didn’t feel like getting dressed this morning?”

Hyunjin shook his hair off his face and stuck his tongue out slightly. “Fuck, no. I don’t have classes or work today, so the teddy pajamas are staying _on_. Anyway, you buying? Jeongin, get me a double-double meal.”

“Jeongin? You know him?” Jisung wondered.

“Uh, yeah? We’ve known each other for years. I’ve mentioned him to you before,” Hyunjin said, in that sarcastic tone he often took on that made Jisung want to hit him. He refrained from violence, instead taking out his card and paying for their burgers. 

Minutes later, Felix returned to deliver their meals to them personally. As he did so, he leaned his elbows down on the counter. “Hey, been meaning to tell you guys. Chan and I were planning on going to that club Minho works at tonight, surprise him while he’s working. Care to join us?”

“Surprise him? Why? What’s the occasion?” Jisung asked, diving his hand into his bag of food and bringing some fries to his mouth.

“Nothing, really.” Felix shrugged. “We just feel like going clubbing, and since Minho’s bartending tonight, we might as well meet him.”

Hyunjin nodded enthusiastically. “Sounds like fun. You in, Jisung?”

Once again, so much for his ‘relaxing weekend.’ He sighed. “Yeah, sure, I’ll go.”

Felix clicked his tongue and departed back to his workstation. They waved good-bye to Jeongin and went outside, Hyunjin immediately taking a hit of his vape when they were barely two feet from the door.

“God, you’re obnoxious with that thing,” Jisung commented. “What is that, a Juul?”

“It’s better than you with your stinky cigarettes,” Hyunjin muttered, “and no, it’s not a fucking Juul. It’s a Smok Nfix. Juul can suck my ass.”

Jisung scoffed. “You smoke cigs too, you even did it before me.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a _nerd_ ,” Hyunjin teased, blowing vapor in his face.

Jisung sneered at him. “Whatever. Gimme that.”

He snatched the vape from Hyunjin’s hand, looking it up and down. “Is there a button somewhere I’m supposed to press, or . . . ?”

“No, dumbass, you just suck it,” Hyunjin ridiculed.

“That’s what he said.” Jisung smirked.

They found a nice outdoor spot on campus to eat, chatting about various things such as their classes, Hyunjin’s asshole manager, and whether or not the moon landing was faked. They hung out for the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, eventually returning to Jisung’s apartment together to rest up before their club night. Minho was not there when they arrived, leaving Jisung to wonder where he’d gone—most likely the dance studio, which was where he usually disappeared to when he needed to clear his head. 

They sat like couch potatoes for several hours, watching episodes of Futurama between intermittent conversation. Jisung didn’t even entertain the idea of telling Hyunjin about what sort-of-maybe-almost happened between him and Minho the night before, not willing to deal with another barrage of remarks questioning his sexuality. As burdensome as it was being the only person who knew about it, it was a secret he’d take to his grave.

***

Hyunjin borrowed a pair of track pants and a baseball cap from Jisung to wear to the club, while Jisung wore black ripped jeans and a graphic tee, throwing a bomber jacket over top and styling his hair. Hyunjin’s car was still parked outside his apartment, so when Felix and Chan arrived, they all piled into it and went on their way.

“What club are we going to, anyway?” Jisung mumbled, staring out the window.

Felix had his face buried in his phone when he answered, “It’s a gay bar downtown. I’ve been there before, it’s a happenin’ place.”

Jisung turned his head swiftly. “Did you say ‘gay bar’?”

Felix looked back at him. “Yeah. Is that a problem?”

“No. No, it’s not a problem,” Jisung replied quickly. “Just . . . I’ve never been to a gay bar before.”

“Well, there’s a first for everything.” Felix grinned.

Hyunjin pulled into a parking spot across the street from the club, and the second he laid his eyes on it Jisung immediately felt overwhelmed. It was a tall building with panorama windows, discreet booths and silhouettes inside painted by purple lights, music blaring so loudly he could swear the pavement shook beneath his feet. Above the windows was a huge neon sign that read ‘BACK DOOR’ and flashed from hot pink to orange to yellow to teal to purple to red and back again. Jisung could already feel a headache coming on.

“Wait, the place is literally _called_ ‘Back Door’? Isn’t that a little . . . on the nose?” Jisung asked deflatedly.

Felix said nothing, just gave him a look that was almost pitiful and pat him on the back. As they got closer, Jisung noticed something strange about the club—there was no lineup out front, no bouncer, and strangest of all, no entrance. The front was all window from corner to corner.

He felt dumb asking so many questions, but he couldn’t help it. “How the Hell do we get in? Where’s the door?”

“In the back,” Felix said, “obviously.”

Jisung, awestruck, followed his friends down a narrow alleyway that ran along the side of the club. Sure enough, the line to get in was behind the building, labeled by yet another flashing neon sign that said ‘COME IN,’ with an arrow pointing to the door. They stood to wait behind what must’ve been half a dozen heads belonging to, primarily, men of all ages, some wearing very tight pants and floral blouses and others dressed in expensive suits, and the smell of cologne was so strong Jisung thought he’d pass out.

“Man, this place is bustling,” Jisung commented. “How is a nightclub _this_ busy on a Sunday night?”

Chan snickered. “It’s a gay bar, and this is Los Angeles.”

Jisung raised his eyebrows in disbelief. “So I’ve been told.”

They were let in after a long wait, and Jisung was met with a sight the likes of which he’d never seen, and wasn’t quite ready for. The speakers bumped snazzy EDM, everything glittered like gold, and there were raised pedestals littered all over the floor, each one a stage for dancers wearing nothing but tight, shiny underwear and combat boots. It was a shock to the senses, and Jisung felt out of breath very quickly.

He was led by the wrist to the large bar counter, where several bartenders mixed drinks and talked with bargoers, and they were, thankfully, much more clothed than the dancers, wearing white button-up shirts with bow ties and black waistcoats. Jisung scanned each of one, but none of them were Minho, and his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

Felix got the attention of one bartender, a tall and handsome man with light stubble and dark eyes whose nametag said ‘Caleb.’ “Hey there, welcome to Back Door. Can I get you started with anything?”

Felix had to yell over the loud music. “Actually, we’re looking for one of the bartenders. Is Reno around?”

“Reno? Oh, yeah. Reno’s not working the bar tonight,” Caleb said.

Jisung shared a despairing and confused look with Felix, then said, “But he told me he was working tonight?”

“He is, I saw him earlier,” Caleb confirmed, “he’s just not at the bar.”

Chan gave a tired huff. “He’s a _bartender_. What else would he be doing?”

Caleb shrugged. “Don’t ask me, man. Take a lap, keep your eyes peeled. I’m sure you’ll find him somewhere.”

With that, they left the bar and started prowling the floor, splitting up in search of Minho. They passed by a number of waiters carrying trays of drinks, not recognizing a single one. After many unsuccessful minutes, they regrouped by one of the circular booths.

“Where the fuck is he?” Chan grumbled, crossing his arms.

Felix scratched his head. “Maybe he’s on his break?”

“He was pretty hungover this morning, maybe he called in sick? Though, he wasn’t at home earlier . . .” Jisung hummed.

“Uhh . . . guys?” Hyunjin suddenly piped up. “Over there.”

They turned to look where he was pointing. Up above them, on one of the high pedestals, was Minho, in shiny gold shorts, his bare torso glittering beneath the coloured strobe lights. There was a seductive look in his eyes and sweat on his brow, and he had a number of bills tucked into his waistband. His body moved in a way that was both strong and featherlight, hips swaying and twirling, shoulders rolling, feet stepping. He dropped to his knees and lolled his head back, then fell forward and walked his hands out, sticking his ass out, and Jisung almost fainted when he started to _twerk_. Minho bit his lower lip, lifting himself up and swaying his torso to one side, then the other, pushing his hair off his forehead and making a face that conveyed raw, sexual ecstasy. 

Jisung could only stare, mouth agape and dry as a desert. He watched Minho run his hands up his own chest, put his hands behind his head and his elbows out, and thrust his hips forward. Jisung had never seen him act like this before, and though he’d seen Minho shirtless many times—fresh out of the shower, walking around the house in his boxers while doing laundry, stripping due to summer heat—he’d never experienced him naked in this context, dripping with sex appeal, his eyes practically begging ‘fuck me silly.’ It was a lot to take in all at once, and Jisung couldn’t even begin to understand the multitude of different feelings swimming around his whole body.

“Jisung? Jisung!” Hyunjin snapped, and Jisung startled. “Close your mouth, you’re gonna attract flies.”

Jisung shook himself out of it. “I . . . I thought he was a bartender?”

“He _is_. At least, he told me he is,” Hyunjin said, sounding equally awestruck. “But, I mean, _damn_. I didn’t know he could dance like that.”

“I don’t think he’s seen us yet. Let’s go say hi,” Felix suggested. “I hope he’s not embarrassed or anything.”

They approached the stage. It was raised several inches off the ground, standing about shoulder-level to them, and was crowded by onlookers from every angle. As they got closer, Minho crossed to the opposite side, kneeling down at the edge of the stage with his hips forward to allow a customer to push a dollar bill into his shorts. As he stepped away, he winked at the man and blew him a kiss, and Jisung felt something rise in his throat.

“Well, only one way to get his attention,” Felix said, digging some cash out from his pocket and waving it in the air. Minho came strutting over and presented his backside to them, glancing over his shoulder. Felix slipped the cash into his shorts and gently smacked his ass, making him turn around defensively, and only then did he seem to realize who they were. 

He flashed them a big smile, mouthing ‘Talk soon,’ then continued dancing. Chan, Hyunjin, and Felix watched him enthusiastically, whooping and wolf-whistling, but Jisung was stone-still, completely and utterly stunned and baffled beyond belief. Minho kept swaying and grinding until his shorts were full of cash, then finished his set, coming down from the stage and pushing through the crowd, making his way to them.

“Y’know, Lix, you’re not supposed to touch the dancers,” Minho said, pulling the money out from his waistband. “If any security saw you do that, you could’ve been kicked out.”

“It’s a risk worth taking,” Felix said, reaching around to squeeze Minho’s butt again. Minho playfully swatted him away.

“Aren’t you a bartender? Or did you switch job positions?” Hyunjin asked him.

Minho shook his head. “Nah, I am a bartender. It’s just that we’re short one dancer tonight, and, well, I can dance, so I stepped in. Though, I may consider doing this more often, the tips are _insane_.”

To prove his point, Minho fanned himself with his fistful of bills. Chan smacked him on the shoulder and praised, “Dude, you were on fire up there. If my rent wasn’t due I’d be tossing money at you, too.”

“Why, thank you,” Minho said smugly. Then, he finally noticed Jisung, standing timidly behind Hyunjin, his hands clasped in front of him. “Hey there, Jisungie. How’d you like the show?”

Jisung glanced at him, doe-eyed, lips parted. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know where to look. He was being confronted with Minho’s dark eyes, his glossy lips, his glittery chest, and for God’s sake, his bulge. He turned his head away. “Well, it, um, it was good. You’re, uh, a good dancer.”

“Aren’t I?” Minho smirked.

Hyunjin seemed to notice Jisung’s discomfort, and slung an arm around him. “We’re gonna go get drinks. Are you taking a break?”

Minho nodded. “Yeah, I’ll join you in a minute. Just gotta put this money in my bag.”

They separated, making their way to the bar and ordering from Caleb. Hyunjin leaned his elbow on the counter and gave Jisung a look. “What’s up with you? You okay?”

“I’ll never look at him the same way again,” Jisung mumbled hauntingly, face like he’d seen a ghost.

Hyunjin pat him on the back. “Aw, buck up. You know, it’s okay to be—”

“Finish that sentence and I’ll rip your tongue out,” Jisung snapped.

Hyunjin put up his hands innocently. Their drinks were served, and Jisung took a big gulp from his, breathing out loudly, like a riled bull. Above all, he needed to be drunk, to prevent himself from thinking about certain things he _really_ did not want to think about. In addition, if he was going to be dealing with a half-naked Minho on full seduction mode, he was going to need alcohol to do it.

A man who was definitely a few years older than Jisung, but not quite geriatric, approached the bar and stood next to him. He was wearing a grey blazer and jeans, and had his shirt almost half-unbuttoned, his hair gelled back and a very expensive watch on his wrist. He gave Jisung an up-and-down glance, a smirk prodding at his lips, while he flagged down a bartender with one hand.

“Gin, neat,” he said to the bartender. Then he looked back at Jisung. “Haven’t seen you around here before. What’s your name?”

The way he was looking at him made Jisung feel something crawling up his spine, but he ignored it. “Uh, Peter. You?”

The man smiled. “Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Maxwell. You’re pretty cute, can I buy you a drink?”

Jisung felt a little spinny as he realized he was being put on the receiving end of his own pick-up tactics. He looked to his friends for help, but they were glancing amongst one another, unsure if they should interrupt. 

Before he could form a response, someone came behind him and ran their hands from his hips up to his waist and squeezed before coming to stand beside him, one hand still wrapped around him. It was Minho, and he gave Jisung a chaste kiss on the cheek before saying, in a sweet voice, “What’s going on, babe? Who’s this?”

Jisung stared at him, a million question marks popping up in his head. Maxwell pursed his lips understandingly and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Ah, I see. You’re spoken for.”

“Yes, he is,” said Minho, with a smile that on the surface appeared gleeful but held a scornful undertone. Then, his face hardened, and he glared at Maxwell with eyes like chips of ice. “And I’m very possessive of him. If you even think to lay one single finger on him, I will slit your throat while you sleep.”

Jisung inhaled deeply and puffed the air out through his cheeks. He knew Minho wasn’t being serious, but he was a darn good actor, and terrifying when mad. He made a mental note to never get on his bad side. 

“Duly noted,” said Maxwell. “You’re a lucky man. You both are.”

With that, the man took his leave. As soon as he was out of sight, Minho released Jisung from his grasp and stepped away. “Sorry to pull the ‘fake boyfriend’ trick again, but you looked like you needed a way out.”

“I did, thank you,” Jisung breathed gratefully. “But, I have to ask, couldn’t you get fired for threatening customers? I mean, that was _harsh_.” 

Minho shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t think he took me seriously. Besides, I’m one of this club’s most valued employees. If he reports me to my manager, the most that’ll happen is I’ll get a stern talking-to.”

Jisung’s head felt fuzzy, and this time he couldn’t blame the alcohol. He knew what it was. He could still feel the plush of Minho’s lips against his cheek, and as much as he wanted to deny it, the way the lights reflected against his lipgloss made them look very inviting. There was a small part of him, a part he tried and failed to bury, that wished Maxwell would come back, and give Minho an excuse to touch him again; kiss him, even. He shook that thought away, downed the rest of his drink, and ordered a second.

Hyunjin came wiggling over, shoulders shaking to the music, tongue pinched between his teeth. “Hey, Minho, you wanna come dance with us? Or do you need a break from the boogie?”

“God, I can’t decide if getting drunk makes you _more_ annoying, or less,” Jisung muttered.

Minho laughed at Jisung’s remark. “Yeah, sure, I’ll dance with you guys for a bit. My next set doesn’t start for another twenty minutes.”

They left their drinks on one of the tables and made their way to the packed dance floor, just as Waka Flocka’s _No Hands_ started playing over the speakers, garnering an explosive reaction from every clubgoer.

“Oh, fuck yes!” Hyunjin hollered, throwing his hands up.

Chan and Felix looked at each other excitedly and shouted, in unison, “ _Listen to this track, bitch_!”

The one drink that Jisung had chugged down was starting to work its magic, and he felt just loose enough to bob his body to the beat. They joined the crowd on the floor, jumping up and down, fists in the air. Chan was tearing up the floor, grinding his hips and popping his chest, while Felix danced in front of him, rubbing his butt on Chan’s front, their bodies moving as one as they sang along.

_Girl the way you movin’, got me in a trance,_   
_DJ turn me up, ladies this yo’ jam._   
_I’ma sip Moscato, and you gon’ lose them pants,_   
_Then I’ma throw this money while you do it with no hands._

Hyunjin laughed hysterically at Felix and Chan’s display. “Damn! You two should get up on one of those stages!”

Chan jokingly slapped Felix on the ass, then wrapped his arms around him as they continued to sway together. Chan said, “Nah, nah, I wouldn’t put on much of a show. I’m not like Minho. However, if they happen to play _It’s Raining_ , you won’t be able to keep me _off_ the stage.”

Minho came up to Jisung and pulled him in by the hips, bringing his lips to his ear and whispering, “Maxwell’s watching. Let’s give him a show, shall we?”

Jisung looked over, and sure enough, Maxwell was standing by the tables, eyes trained on them. Jisung grimaced. “He’s kinda creepy, huh?”

“Yeah. He’s a regular here. I’ve always found him a bit creepy,” Minho said. “Just ignore him. I don’t think he’s actually dangerous.”

_Girl, drop it to the floor,_   
_I love the way yo’ booty go._   
_All I wanna do is sit back and watch you move,_   
_And I’ll proceed to throw this cash._

Jisung’s mind was already slipping away from him, the affects of the alcohol really setting in. He thought it a little strange, as he’d only had one drink, but then again he did finish it very quickly. He let himself get loose, dancing with Minho, arm-in-arm and chest-to-chest. Minho was shaking his hips and guiding Jisung by the arms, and just like at the frat party, they became the only two people in the room.

By the time the song was over, Jisung was feeling dizzy, _very_ dizzy. His limbs were heavy and his knees felt weak, and the music and noise around him sounded muffled, like his head was in a fishbowl. He closed his eyes and held his face in his hands, groaning quietly. He had gotten far too drunk far too quickly, and he felt more and more like he needed to go to sleep.

Minho shook him by the shoulder gently, a look of concern on his face. “Jisung? Are you alright?”

He groaned again. “I’m okay, I just feel kind of . . . I’m dizzy . . .”

He had collapsed to the club floor before he even felt himself falling, landing in a heap, his head groggy and his eyes struggling to stay open. The clubgoers around him jumped back in shock, murmuring worriedly to one another. Minho knelt next to him and shook him again, putting one hand to his forehead and the other against his neck. Jisung wanted to get up, wanted to tell him that he’s fine, but he couldn’t move, and he found it hard to speak.

Hyunjin knelt next to Minho, grabbing Jisung’s hand. “What happened? Are you okay? What’s going on?”

“I think someone put something in his drink,” Minho growled. Then his voice softened. “Jisung? Can you hear me?”

He could hear him, but he couldn’t respond. He couldn’t even nod his head. He felt himself get lifted off the floor, thanks to the combined effort of Felix and Chan. Minho ordered, “Take him home. I’m going to find the motherfucker who did this and when I do, I’m going to kill him.”

“Do you know who it was?” Hyunjin asked.

“I have an idea,” Minho snarled.

Jisung was carried out of the club, away from the lights and the noise, into the quiet night. He was set down in the backseat of Hyunjin’s car, in between Chan and Felix, who helped him stay upright. He felt the car moving, watched storefronts passing by out the window, listened to the radio. He never felt himself leave the car, because he fell fast asleep long before they parked outside the apartment.

***

Jisung awoke with a start, inhaling sharply and springing up in his place, the blankets falling off him and a wet towel landing in his lap. He looked around himself wildly. He was in his room, in his own bed, his Zico and Brockhampton posters staring back at him. Groggily, he picked up the damp facecloth that had fallen off his forehead, and it felt cold in his hand. He looked to his right and saw that Minho was in the room with him, sitting on a chair that he’d brought from the kitchen table and positioned next to his bed, and he was fast asleep with his head drooped forward. 

Jisung flexed his hand and tried lifting his arms, relieved to find his mobility had returned. He reached over and nudged Minho, poking him in the shoulder several times before he stirred, lifting his head slowly and rubbing the ache out of his neck.

Minho looked at him with soft eyes, his brows turned up in an expression that was either worry or comfort. His voiced gruff from leftover sleep, he whispered, “Hey. How are you feeling?”

Jisung took a deep breath. “I’m . . . fine. What are you doing here? How long were you sitting there?”

Minho stretched his arms above his head and several of his bones cracked. “All night. I was monitoring you, making sure you were still breathing and stuff. I guess I fell asleep at some point.”

“Oh. Thanks I guess,” Jisung mumbled, suddenly feeling shy, his cheeks hot. He never thought Minho cared that much about him. 

“Are you okay? Have the drugs worn off?” Minho asked. He started to reach out a hand, then stopped himself, placing it on his own leg instead.

“What?” Jisung grunted, his throat feeling dry.

Minho still had a gentle expression. “You were drugged. Someone must’ve slipped something in your drink last night.”

“Oh. Right.” It was coming back to him now. Collapsing on the dance floor, conscious yet paralyzed, unable to move or speak, barely able to even think. He remembered it in small chunks, muffled and jumbled voices and the feeling of Hyunjin’s car seat. “That was . . . scary. I’m glad you guys were there.”

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” Minho promised. Then, he quickly added, “Nor would Hyunjin, or Chan or Felix.”

Jisung’s hands trembled. “What . . . What might’ve happened to me? If you weren’t there?”

Minho reached forward and grabbed his hand tenderly, looking him in the eyes. “Don’t. Don’t think about that. You’re safe, it’s okay now.”

He looked down at Minho’s hand, and noticed that his knuckles were split and bruised, freshly wounded. He gently touched the bruises, mumbling, “What happened?”

Minho took his hand away and hummed. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Let’s just say that sick old fuck won’t be coming back to my club anytime soon.”

Jisung looked at Minho, who had a cheeky smile on his face. He started to imagine Minho beating someone up while wearing those gold shorts, and he had to try not to laugh. Now, Minho wore sweat pants and a dirty white shirt, and the musky scent of his sweat still lingered on him, as well as the touch of glitter that was visible on his collarbones.

“I . . .” Minho started to say, then sighed. “I just hope . . . I hope that this incident won’t give you the wrong idea.”

“Wrong idea? About what?” Jisung wondered.

“Gay people,” Minho said. “People . . . like me.”

Jisung leaned back and scoffed aloud. “Oh, God no. I’ve met plenty, if not more, equally creepy straight dudes. It’s got nothing to do with being gay. Plus, I know you, and you’d never do that to me. Or anyone.”

“No. Of course not.” Minho smiled weakly. He got up from his chair and ruffled his hair, making it stick up in places, then stretched once more. “Well, I should hit the shower. Do you need anything? Water, toast?”

The corners of Jisung’s mouth turned up gratefully. “No, it’s okay, I can get it myself.”

Minho nodded, his gaze lingering for a moment before he departed, Jisung hearing the bathroom door close and the shower running soon after. Jisung sat in bed, rethinking everything he thought he knew about his roommate. He’d always perceived Minho as cold, reserved, very kept-to-himself and not one to show off, but in the span of the past twelve hours he’d seen Minho twerk for cash, save Jisung from a creepy guy twice, and stay with him for a whole night to ensure his health and safety. Perhaps Minho simply took time to warm up, and once he did, he revealed a side of himself that was compassionate and protective; and perhaps, deep inside, he was truly someone who cared deeply for others, like an older brother, or a boyfriend.

Jisung cut off his own train of thought and got out of bed, changing into more comfortable clothes and trudging to the kitchen, fixing himself a glass of water while throwing some bread in the toaster. By the time he was spreading butter on his toast, he heard the shower turn off, and soon after Minho exited the bathroom. He joined Jisung in the kitchen wearing only his sweats and a towel over his shoulders, and he stood in front of the Keurig machine to make himself a coffee.

“We should get a real espresso maker,” Minho mumbled absently, “now that I know how to use one. I could snag some coffee beans from my work, make us some actual lattes. What do you think?”

Jisung chuckled. “That’s a nice idea. We have money saved, and espresso machines aren’t usually that expensive, right? Few hundred dollars?”

“Yeah. I work three jobs for a reason, right?” Minho snorted. “Coffee?”

“Sure, thanks,” Jisung said. He sipped from his water glass, thinking to himself. Then he finally asked, “Why _do_ you work three jobs, anyway? I mean, I know you’ve got bills to pay, as I do, but I’m getting by on just one paycheck. It seems unnecessary, the amount you work.”

Minho looked down at his feet and shrugged. “There’s no reason, really. I guess I just want to prove to my parents that I don’t need their help. Maybe it’s a little overkill.”

Jisung’s eyebrows bunched. “Huh? Why? What do you have to prove?”

“Well, my parents are pretty wealthy. At least, my dad is. He owns a law firm here in Los Angeles,” Minho explained. “He wanted to pay for my entire college tuition, but I told him I didn’t need it. He seemed to think I couldn’t make it on my own.”

Jisung almost choked on his water. “What? Are you stupid? Sheesh, ask him to pay for _my_ tuition! I’ll fucking take that offer. How could you turn that down?”

Minho laughed a little. “No, see, all my life he wanted me to take over his firm one day. Y’know, go to law school, become a lawyer. If he paid my tuition I’d be studying to do that, but that’s not really what I want to do with my life. Plus, he’s since rescinded that offer, anyway.”

“Why?” Jisung asked carefully.

“Because . . .” Minho paused, his mouth forming a line. “Because I came out to him. He told me he’d never hand over his firm to me so long as I continue to ‘choose’ to date boys.”

“Oh,” Jisung whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Minho shook his head. “Nah, it’s fine. I’m happy this way. I can continue to fuck who I want and it gives me a reasonable excuse not to follow in his footsteps. He really thought he did something, threatening me like that. Joke’s on him.”

He handed Jisung his coffee, and they went to sit on the couch together, proceeding to argue for several minutes over what show to watch, Minho demanding Family Guy while Jisung insisted on The X-Files. It was comfortable, and Jisung felt glad that things seemed to have returned to normal between them, no more tense atmosphere and avoiding eye contact. The prospect of maybe becoming proper friends with Minho was exciting, yet still a part of him worried it wouldn’t be possible due to the way his heart did flips and his hands got clammy every time he met Minho’s gaze. That worry intensified when they started grappling for the remote, and when their hands touched, they both let go, leaving the appliance to drop from their grasps and land on the couch cushion between them.

Perhaps proper friendship was still a ways away, yet.


	5. Summer Breeze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> Wow, this little story made it to 1,000 hits! Thank you so much for giving my work a chance, and thank you additionally for all the kudos and lovely comments. You all make me laugh and keep me motivated to update this. Let me know what you think of this chapter!
> 
> Apologies for taking a little longer to upload this, I got a little too into Among Us this week and totally neglected my writing. However, this chapter is pretty juicy and quite a bit longer than usual - a whole 33 pages and around 10,000 words - so I hope that makes up for it!
> 
> I want to add that I've never personally been to the Korean Friendship Bell in San Pedro, and my research on it can only go so far, so if I got any details wrong I sincerely apologize for that.
> 
> Also! I've made a Spotify playlist for this story with all the songs that the chapters are named after that will be routinely updated as each chapter comes up. Just search this story's name, "Molasses in the Sky," on Spotify and you should find it. Give it a listen, and make sure to follow my Twitter (@/reineard) and keep an eye out for my pinned tweet where I post updates and sneak peeks of new chapters! You will also find a link in my pinned thread to the Spotify playlist :)
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "Summer Breeze" by Seals & Crofts!
> 
> Happy reading~

_Sweet days of summer, the jasmine’s in bloom,_  
_July is dressed up and playing her tune._

The week had gone by uneventfully, each day relatively the same as the last, and Jisung had seen very little of Minho. He was either off dancing, in classes, at the coffee shop, at the club, or his other mystery job that Jisung still hadn’t learned the nature of. He’d only shared a countable number of words with Minho the entire week, discussing emotionless things like needing to buy bread or coffee beans; the longest conversation they’d had was about rent being due that month, and that had only lasted about five minutes. Jisung had been hoping for their friendship to accelerate, but it seemed to be back to where they’d started, which was, at the least, better than the choking discomfiture that had set in after their kiss. Yet, he even longed for that, as it had come with a tension that could be cut with a steak knife, a tension that Jisung had come to almost enjoy. Without it there was nothing between them, just their shared four walls.

10월 2일, 11:27 오전  
내 집에 와서 (Come to my house)  
난 릭스와 함께 있어 (I’m with Lix)

Jisung had awoken Friday morning to a text from Chan, rolling over in bed to squint at the screen. He rubbed an itch out of his head and smacked his mouth, the taste of his own saliva making him grimace, then typed out a reply.

10월 2일, 11:29 오전  
담배 피울 건가요? (Are we smoking?)

He got out of bed and ran two hands through his hair, knowing without even needing to look that his bedhead was atrocious. He threw on a pair of joggers, a fresh shirt, and a hoodie, zipping it up halfway. He had only two pairs of clean socks, one with a hole in the big toe and one with a hole in the pinkie toe, so he grumbled and decided to borrow a pair from Minho.

10월 2일, 11:31 오전  
원한 경우에만 (Only if you want to)  
새 봉을 사ㅏㅏ~ (I’m buying a new bonggg~)

He replied with a few emojis while he left his bedroom, finding Minho making himself coffee in a traveller mug. He was wearing a dirty white shirt and blue jeans, with big brown boots on his feet, and he had a tired look on his face. Jisung joined him in the kitchen, throwing two pieces of bread in the toaster and casting Minho a timid glance.

“Morning,” Minho mumbled, eyes turned to the Keurig.

“Yeah, morning,” Jisung returned. “Where you off to? Work?”

Minho nodded. “Yup. Construction. We’re doing renovations on the library at USC. Fun stuff.”

“Ha, _Reno_ -vations,” Jisung laughed. Minho didn’t seem to get the joke, so he coughed into his hand. He also, internally, fist-pumped the air, as he finally learned what Minho’s third job was. He worked construction. That made him wonder—how many buildings around LA had he been to that Minho had worked on? He imagined Minho, in a reflective vest and hard hat, bent over a table with a handheld saw, cutting up a slab of wood, his arms sheened with sweat from the hot California sun. He quickly shook _that_ image away, coughing into his hand again.

“You going somewhere too? Classes?” Minho asked, screwing the top onto his traveller mug.

“Uh, no. I’m going with Chan and Lix to buy a new bong. I mean, I’m not buying one, Chan is,” he explained. “That reminds me, can I borrow a pair of socks? Mine are in the washer.”

“Yeah, no problem. They’re in my top drawer, knock yourself out,” Minho said as he started leaving the kitchen. Then, he turned around and added, “You should buy a bong, we could both use it. If you see a nice one get it, I can pay you back for half. It’ll be ours.”

_Ours_. There was something about that word, _ours_ , that made Jisung’s heart do that spazzy thing. He didn’t understand why—the house was ‘ _ours_ ,’ the rent was ‘ _ours_ ,’ the Netflix and the groceries were ‘ _ours_ ,’ yet still the concept of buying something new that was also ‘ _ours_ ’ made him feel like he’d swallowed a beehive. Even if it was just a bong.

“O-Okay, sure, I might do that,” he replied, even though he’d already decided he would. Minho smiled and gave a short nod, then departed for the door, closing it after him. Jisung buttered his toast and wrapped it in a napkin to take with him, stopping by Minho’s room to borrow some white socks, then put on his shoes and grabbed his bag, leaving the suite.

When he got out of the building, he noticed Minho had not officially left yet, still standing in the walkway with his traveller cup in one hand and bagged lunch in the other. Jisung slowed to a stop behind him, confused and a little concerned—until he saw Jamie standing on the sidewalk, and his mouth started to taste like hatred.

“Hi,” Minho said evenly to Jamie, relaxing his shoulders and taking a step toward him. “What are you doing here?”

Jamie tucked his hands into his pockets sheepishly. “I wanted to see you. I miss you, Reno.” He got closer, until there was only a few inches of space between them. “Y’know, Brooklyn’s out of town, visiting her parents. Maybe we could . . . hang out tonight?”

Minho’s fist tightened around his lunchbag. “Don’t you think that’s a little unfair to her?”

“What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her,” Jamie chuckled. “She never found out about our affair before.”

“Yeah, see, that’s the thing,” Minho began, voice laced with something along the lines of disgust, “I never knew what we had was an ‘affair.’ I thought I was your boyfriend.”

“You were! And Brooklyn was my girlfriend,” Jamie said, as though it was a reasonable excuse.

“I didn’t know that. I wouldn’t have dated you if I had,” Minho growled.

Jisung couldn’t take it anymore, and decided to interrupt. He walked up alongside Minho and put an arm around him, standing a little in between him and Jamie. “What’s going on, babe? Is there a problem here?”

Jamie took a fearful step back, eyeing Jisung narrowly up and down. “No, there’s no problem, _Peter_. So, you weren’t lying, huh? You really do live together.”

“Yes, we do,” Minho stated, putting his arm around Jisung’s midsection. “We’re very happy together, by the way.”

Jamie chewed his lip angrily. “I see.”

“And I would never cheat on him. Because I’m not a _scumbag_ ,” Jisung quipped. “So, Jamie, I have a question for you. Do you like having your teeth? Because if you do, I would kindly suggest not to let me see you around here again. Go find someone who’s actually stupid enough to let you bang them. And for fuck’s sake, do Brooklyn the good grace of dumping her. She can do better.”

Jamie, defeated, poked his tongue through his cheek and nodded sourly, backing away. As he went, Minho turned and hugged Jisung, whispering ‘Thank you’ into his ear. When they parted, he was looking off into the distance, and Jisung followed his gaze to see Jamie was still watching them from down the block. Minho cupped his cheek and turned his head back to face him, his eyes downcast. Jisung could taste his breath, and his heart started to race.

“He looks jealous,” Jisung said quickly, staving off his nervousness.

“He _is_ jealous,” Minho affirmed, chuckling lightly. “We’re kinda getting good at the fake-boyfriend schtick, huh?”

“I guess we are,” Jisung agreed, smirking. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and without thinking, he did the unthinkable—he planted a short, chaste kiss to Minho’s lips, then gently smacked him on the butt as he passed by, saying, “Have a good day at work, _babe_.”

Minho turned to watch him go, eyes wide and mouth ajar, and it was the first time Jisung had ever seen him look truly stunned. Jisung kept up his confident façade until he’d rounded the corner, then collapsed against the wall of a building with a hand pressed to his chest, breaths heaving, sweat pricking at his forehead, a mantra of ‘ _What the fuck did I just do?_ ’ playing over and over in his brain. They had only just managed to escape the era of awkwardness, and now he may have just kicked it right back into full gear.

He managed to pull himself off the brick and speed-walked to Chan’s house, both hands buried in his hair, scratching incessantly at his scalp until spots of blood appeared under his fingernails and he forced himself to stop. He found Chan and Felix outside the apartment building waiting for him, and when they saw him on the sidewalk they made their way over.

“Took you long enough,” Chan chided, tapping the watch on his wrist.

“Yeah, sorry, I uh—” Jisung tried to say.

Felix gave him a worried glance. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, you’re white as a sheet. You alright?”

Jisung pulled the collar of his shirt out to cool himself off. “I’m fine, it’s all good. Actually, it’s not, I just kissed Minho again—”

“ _What_? You did?” Chan almost shrieked. “The saga continues!”

Felix put one hand in his pocket and blew air out through his cheeks. “Damn. Just now?”

“Yeah, just now,” Jisung rambled. “Jamie was outside our house, being an asshole an’ stuff, so I played Minho’s fake-boyfriend again to make him jealous, and I kissed him—”

“Wait, _you_ kissed _him_ this time?” Felix asked, brows raised.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did, oh fuck . . .” Jisung spoke hurriedly, grabbing fistfuls of his hair again.

Chan took him by the shoulders and gently shook him. “Hey, hey, calm down. We’ll go get my bong, then we’ll hit the dispensary and I’ll buy you some bud. Then you can smoke your worries away. Okay?”

Jisung looked at him pitifully. “You’re so nice to me, Channie.”

Chan rolled his eyes and wrapped an arm around him, leading him to his truck that was parked out front. They drove to a place called _Ye Olde Bong Shoppe_ , Jisung chewing his fingernails the whole way there. Inside was empty aside from the clerk, who was a pasty guy with long hair and a saggy beanie, and when he welcomed them as they entered Jisung could easily tell he was high as a kite. 

They split up to scour the shop, Felix bending down to peruse the grinders and other accessories while Chan and Jisung admired the wide selection of bongs, bubblers, dab rigs, and pipes. It was enough to make Jisung feel dizzy.

Chan set his eyes on a tall, transparent beaker that had ‘MAV’ written in bubble letters down the neck, and when Jisung looked closer, he saw the letters had little avocados drawn on them. Chan pointed to it and asked the clerk, “What’s that one?”

“That there’s the eighteen by nine-inch Maverick Avocado Specialty Slab Beaker. She comes with a clear 14-millimetre bowl and an ash-catcher, and she’ll cost ya a clean two-hundo,” said the clerk, and hearing that price made Jisung’s eyes dry out.

Chan nodded approvingly. “Sweet. I’ll take ‘er.”

Jisung grabbed him by the wrist. “You’re gonna spend _two hundred_ on a bong? That’s crazy!”

“No, it’s a fairly standard price for good glass, especially a Mav.” Chan shrugged. “The one Changbin broke was Cheech & Chong, and that cost _more_ than two-hundred, that he had to reimburse. So, technically, I’ve made a profit.”

Jisung did a mouth shrug and let him be. He continued to browse, setting his eyes on a black-and-ivory beaker that he felt was well-fitting to his style, so once the clerk was done taking Chan’s payment he asked about it.

“Ah, she’s a pretty one, eh? Fourteen-inch Flame beaker with atomic perc and dome,” the clerk said, “and she’s on sale for ninety.”

Jisung was happy to hear an agreeable price, and decided he’d take it. He paid for it and had it packaged in bubble wrap, then managed to squeeze it in his backpack. Felix ended up buying himself a grinder, and then it was off to the dispensary, where each of them picked up an eighth—Chan got Bubba Kush, Felix got Green Crack, and Jisung got Alaskan Thunder Fuck, because he liked the name of it.

From there, they made their way to Sage Hill, a park that was nearby campus, and sat down on a discreet patch of grass tucked behind some bushes after Chan laid out a blanket. Felix passed around bottles of water and started filling up his piece, which had recently been cleaned. 

“This is great, we all got bongs now,” Felix said excitedly. “You know what this means? We can do a triple rip!”

“A t- _rip_ -le, if you will,” added Chan.

Felix leaned over and playfully smacked him. Then, he looked around the circle. “This also means each of us has to take _three_ hits. ‘Cause, I dunno about y’all, but I want to try both your new pieces. After you break ‘em in, of course.”

Jisung shrugged. “I’m good with that. I want to get fucked _up_.”

Footsteps in the grass could be heard behind them, and somebody sat themselves down on the blanket between Jisung and Felix. It was Hyunjin, wearing sweats and a windbreaker, his hair tied up and his vape in his hand.

“You thought you were gonna sesh without me? I’m hurt!” Hyunjin announced.

Chan laughed. “Well, hi, Hyunjin. Where the fuck did you come from?”

“I was out for a run, then I saw you guys,” Hyunjin said. “Did you get new bongs? Let me see!”

Jisung eyed him up-and-down. “You were out running . . . with your vape? Isn’t that counter-intuitive?”

Hyunjin ignored him, instead reaching to pick up his bong and inspect it. “Even Jisungie has a piece now? Aw, little stoner boy’s all grown up!”

Jisung took it back from him grumpily. “It’s mine _and_ Minho’s. He’s paying half.”

“Ooh, you’re sharing smoke stuff now?” Hyunjin asked slyly. “What a touching love story this is turning out to be.”

Jisung scowled at him, holding up his bong threateningly. “I know I _just_ bought this, but I swear to God I will smash it over your head.”

Felix’s face twisted up as he ground some of his weed in his new grinder, and he mumbled, “Sometimes I can’t tell if you guys are really friends, or enemies.”

“Can’t we be both?” Hyunjin said sweetly.

Chan took some of Jisung’s Alaskan Thunder Fuck and ground it in his grinder, setting it down in the middle of the blanket. Hyunjin took a JBL speaker out of his small backpack and started playing something that could only be described as ‘stoner music.’ Chan, Felix, and Jisung each filled up their bowls and balanced their bongs on their laps, ‘cheers’-ing with their lighters before blazing up and ripping their chops in unison, Hyunjin cheering them on and pretending to make it rain.

“So, how’s the first toke?” Chan asked while suppressing a cough.

Jisung smacked his lips and nodded approvingly. “Very nice. The perc gives it a smooth hit. How’s yours?”

“A little rough, but that’s pretty standard for beakers,” Chan said. “Packs a punch, too. I’m high already.”

“Stop hogging, it’s my turn.” Hyunjin’s grabby hands went for Jisung’s piece, snatching it away from him and refilling the bowl.

Felix clicked his tongue at him. “You’re such a feener. You always come and smoke _our_ weed out of _our_ bongs. How about you pitch in, sometime?”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes dramatically. “Fine, _sheesh_ , next time I’ll bring a nug with me. Happy?”

“Huh! That hardly makes up for it, but fine,” Felix grumbled.

Jisung used Chan’s bong while Hyunjin smoked out of his, and it indeed did pack a punch, the weed rushing to his head instantly and making him sway a little. He coughed into his arm while he passed the piece back, blinking several times to fight back the blur.

Hyunjin blew out his cloud and made a sound. “Mn, hey, tomorrow’s beach excursion day. We still need you and Minho’s deposit for the hotel.”

Ah, right. Jisung had forgotten about that. A few weeks back, they’d planned a beach outing to celebrate a final goodbye to the summer, and with everything that’d transpired lately, it had totally slipped his mind. Back then, he’d agreed to share a hotel room with Minho, since they were already roommates anyway and it was only for a night. Now, the thought of that somehow terrified him.

“Oh shit, yeah. We’ll get that to you tonight,” Jisung said. “How much for a two-queen room again?”

Hyunjin smirked. “A hundred and twenty-six bucks. You could always just get a single king-sized bed, it’s cheaper that way.”

Jisung shoved him lightly. “Asshole, you already booked and paid for the rooms, we’re just paying you back.”

“True, but if I hadn’t, would you get the one bed? It’s not too late to switch,” Hyunjin murmured, and it was hard to tell if he was joking or not.

“Two beds is _perfect_ , thanks.” Jisung scowled.

Felix tapped his fingernails against the glass of his bong absentmindedly. “Who’s coming, again?”

“All the lads,” replied Hyunjin. “You and I are rooming together, as you know, then Minho and Jisung, Chan and Changbin, and finally Seungmin and Jeongin.”

“Jeongin . . . from In-N-Out?” Jisung asked. “And who’s Seungmin?”

“Yes, Jeongin from In-N-Out,” Hyunjin answered, patronizingly. “Seungmin is Chan’s friend from high school. I haven’t met him yet but I heard he’s nice.”

Jisung nodded slowly. The weed was clouding his brain so much he’d already forgotten most of what Hyunjin had just said. The four of them sat on their patch of grass, dissolving into stupid chatter and giggles until the day grew cold, and they parted ways with a chorus of ‘See you tomorrow’s. Jisung returned home to relax on the couch, eating dry Lucky Charms straight from the box, watching reruns of The Office and laughing to himself. Eventually, he ran out of marshmallow bits, and returned the cereal box to the cupboard while searching for more snacks, deciding on what was left of the stale Cheetos in the bag that had been on top of their fridge for longer than he cared to remember.

Minho came in when the skies outside had gone dark. His shoulders were sagging and his eyes were drooping, and he dragged his feet like they weighed ten tonnes each. He disappeared into his room for a few minutes, reappearing in a fresh t-shirt and his pinstripe pajamas, landing heavily on the couch next to Jisung.

“How was work?” he asked quietly.

“Tiring,” Minho grunted. “Did you get a bong?”

Jisung nodded and went to get it from his bag, taking it out and showing it to Minho, who took it from him gingerly and turned it around in his hands, looking at it like how a dad would look at his phone screen.

“It’s nice. Simple design. I like it,” he said. “Have you thought of a name yet?”

“Do people usually name them?” Jisung wondered.

Minho looked almost offended. “You _always_ name your piece. Each one is special, unique in its own way. They deserve names. Felix calls his Straya.”

“Straya . . . As in _Au-straya_?” Jisung scoffed.

Minho snorted. “Yeah. Chan’s old one was called True Blue, because those two can’t let us forget even for a second that they’re Aussies. Has he named his new one yet?”

“I don’t think so. He didn’t say.” Jisung sat back down and studied the bong. “What do you think would be a good name for her, then?”

Minho jutted his bottom lip out, humming in thought. “It’s hard to say, since I haven’t smoked out of ‘er yet. See, usually a bong will tell _you_ its name, but that takes time. My first bong was a simple beaker that had such a smooth hit it was almost magical, so I called her Magic. I miss that old girl.”

“You think you’re maybe taking this a _little_ too seriously?” Jisung teased.

“Or you’re not taking it seriously _enough_ ,” Minho rebuked. He set the bong down on the coffee table and stared deeply at it. “Anyway, the perfect name will come eventually. We’ll decide on it together.”

_Together_. It hit him once again that the bong was something they shared, together, ‘ _ours_ ,’ and they were going to name it, together, like it was their child. As much as he’d made fun of the concept before, he actually did like the sound of that. 

Minho stretched out his back with a groan, bringing up a hand to rub his shoulder, his face twisting in pain. He complained, grittily, “Gosh, construction really does a number on me. I’m going to be crippled by the time I’m fifty, at this rate.”

Jisung breathed out a short laugh, reaching forward to take Minho by the shoulders and dig his thumbs in, rubbing in slow circles on either side of his upper spine. Minho’s head leaned back a little, his hair tickling Jisung’s nose, and he sighed contentedly. 

“Mm, a massage? To what do I owe the honour?” Minho mumbled, leaning into Jisung’s touch.

He pulled Minho’s shoulders back and squeezed, running his fingers under the blades and down his spine, all the way to his tailbone and back up again. “I don’t want you to be crippled, this building isn’t very wheelchair-accessible.”

Jisung carefully coaxed out the knots at the base of Minho’s neck, pressing his fingers in deep, feeling the flesh beneath his hands loosen and the bones go lax. It was intimately quiet, and he found he enjoyed the closeness, the comfort, being able to touch Minho without feeling awkward and sweating profusely. It came with the tension he’d been missing, palpable and sickly sweet to his stomach, crackling in the empty space between them whenever their eyes briefly met. It gathered in his gut and tasted sour on his tongue, the small sounds that Minho made whenever he rubbed a good spot, the way that tugged at him and made him want to touch every spot on his body and see what other sounds he would make. It was at that point, when his thoughts started to stray off the deep end, that he took his hands away.

They stayed on the couch together, watching whatever movies came up on cable TV, until Minho fell asleep right where he sat. Jisung got up and laid him on his back, sprawling a blanket over him and wishing him good-night; then departed to his own bed to rest before their grand beach day.

***

He awoke the following morning to his alarm blaring, deafeningly, the robotic announcer voice telling him it was 8 A.M. He smacked and pawed at his phone screen but the noise didn’t stop, forcing him to sit partway up so he could actually see the snooze button. Once it was quiet, he buried his face into his pillow with a contented hum, cuddling the blankets. It was then a knock sounded at his door, and Minho let himself in before he could answer, walking up to his bed and kicking it at the base.

“Wakey wakey eggs n’ bacey,” Minho called, poking his ear.

Jisung swat him away and rolled over, looking up at him with a touched expression. “Aww, you made me breakfast?”

“No,” Minho said flatly, “there’s no time. Hyunjin’s picking us up in thirty minutes. Pack your shit.”

He left, and Jisung made a face at him behind his back. Minho didn’t usually come to wake him up, and that had reminded him of the days back home, when his brother used to jump on him and wrestle him out of bed to get him ready for school. Perhaps it was Minho’s way of thanking him for the back massage, or he was simply worried of Jisung making him late. 

He got up and dressed himself in black jeans and a blue-and-white JW Anderson polo shirt, slapping a white cap on his head instead of bothering to style his hair. He packed up enough clothes and toiletries for a one-day trip and left the duffel bag by the door. The spot on the couch where Minho had been sleeping was indented and the blanket had been thrown halfway over the back, while Minho himself had gone into the kitchen and poured himself a bowl of Lucky Charms.

“Why are there no marshmallows in this?” he asked when Jisung approached, peering into the box and shaking it.

Jisung looked into his cereal bowl and saw there were, indeed, no marshmallows. He shrugged guiltily. “I may have . . . eaten them all last night.”

Minho sighed exasperatedly. “Why would you eat _just_ the marshmallows?”

“I was high!” Jisung squeaked defensively.

Minho set the box down. “Whatever. We’ll just get Hyunjin to stop somewhere on the way.”

Jisung followed Minho to the foyer, where he put on chunky white shoes, and they both grabbed their duffel bags and headed out. They sat on the curb in silence until Hyunjin pulled up with Felix in the passenger’s seat, and they put their bags in the trunk before climbing into the backseat.

“Mornin’, fellas,” Felix greeted them, holding Hyunjin’s vape in his hand and taking a hit from it.

Hyunjin snatched it away from him. “Stop it, you’re gonna run the battery dry before we even get there!”

“This is going to be a _long_ car ride,” Jisung mumbled, rubbing his temples.

“It’s only thirty minutes,” Minho reassured him, then looked to the front seat. “Hyunjin, we haven’t eaten yet. Is there time to stop somewhere on the way?”

Felix clapped his hands excitedly. “Ooh, yeah, let’s get Macca’s!”

“Macca’s? What the fuck is Macca’s?” Jisung asked.

“ _McDonald’s_.” Felix rolled his eyes. “It’s too long a word. We say Macca’s.”

Jisung sighed. “You could always just say Micky D’s, like everyone else in the world.”

“Or McD’s,” suggested Hyunjin.

“Or McDick’s,” added Minho.

Jisung looked between them. “Er . . . sure, or that.”

Hyunjin put the car in gear and turned onto the road, driving to the nearest ‘Macca’s.’ They ordered from the Drive-Thru and received two big bags full of McMuffins, four hashbrowns, and four coffees. Then it was back on the road, travelling down I-405, screaming past buildings and dry grassy knolls at fifty miles-per-hour, windows open and radio blasting Hyunjin’s playlist of—in Jisung’s opinion—shitty gangsta rap. There was a divide, the front half of the car in full party mode, while Jisung and Minho stared calmly out their windows.

Felix reached behind himself and grabbed Minho’s knee, jiggling his leg. “C’mon, you zombies! Wake up!”

“We will when you play something _good_. Give me the AUX chord, for Chrissake,” Jisung complained grumpily.

Hyunjin scoffed. “You just want to play your _own_ music.”

“At least _my_ music is better than whatever the fuck _this_ is!” Jisung snapped. “Or I could play some Tupac, or Kanye. Y’know, something that smacks.”

Minho glanced over, fist supporting his head and eyebrows pinched together. “You make music?”

The car got quiet, Hyunjin, Felix, and Jisung all staring dumbly at him. Finally, Hyunjin muttered, “You didn’t know that?”

So it wasn’t only Jisung who hadn’t taken the time to learn enough about his roommate. He realized only then that he’d never really shared any of his music with Minho, had never played him a song, hadn’t even mentioned it in passing. It made perfect sense that Minho wouldn’t know anything about that part of his life.

“I guess I never told you before,” Jisung admitted. “I’m part of a hip-hop producing and writing trio with Chan and Changbin, we’re called 3RACHA. We have two-thousand monthly listeners on Spotify.”

Minho’s eyes widened a little. Then they narrowed. “Wait, 3RACHA . . . as in ‘sriracha’? Like the hot sauce?”

Jisung chuckled awkwardly. “Yeah . . . ‘cause we’re, y’know, hot stuff. We came up with the name back in high school.”

Minho snorted. “I guess I can’t argue with that. I knew Chan made music, but I always thought he flew solo. Well, play some 3RACHA. I want to hear it.”

Hyunjin groaned and threw his phone at Felix, who took it and pulled up a playlist of 3RACHA’s songs, putting it on shuffle. The first one that played was _Runner’s High_ , and Minho started to bob his head, listening to the lyrics closely. Jisung felt himself cringe as his verse started—he’d written it as a pompous sixteen-year-old, full of himself and still unaware of the way of the world, when his dreams were big and his aspirations were above him but he believed he could do anything. Hearing it brought a sense of nostalgia, as well as a feeling of grief. As cringy as it was to be faced with past-him now, he missed the days when everything seemed possible and he had his whole life in front of him. As a twenty-year-old college student who wasn’t sure if his major was even right for him, there was so much confusion and doubt, and he’d do anything to have even an ounce of that self-confidence back.

“This is you rapping?” Minho asked, and Jisung nodded shyly. “Wow. You’re really good. I had no idea. And you wrote this?”

Jisung looked away bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ah, well, just my part. Chan produced the track. A-And Changbin’s a better rapper than I am, for sure.”

Minho clicked his tongue. “You’re good, too. I will say, though, your lyrics are a little ‘big dick in a locker room,’ if you catch my drift.”

“Huh? I don’t catch,” Jisung mumbled.

“You know _that_ guy, we all know _that_ guy,” Minho sneered, “that one guy in every locker room who’s hung like a horse and knows it. Your lyrics are like _that_ guy.”

Jisung laughed lightly. “Weird reference, but okay.”

“He only knows that reference because he _is_ ‘that guy,’” Hyunjin said, snickering. 

“I am not!” Minho denied.

“You _are_ ,” Felix confirmed. “Remember that time we all went swimming to cool off after dance? When we hit the showers after? You were that one motherfucker who just _had_ to walk around with no towel and no swim trucks, because you have _nothing_ to be ashamed of. It was embarrassing to watch.”

Once again, Jisung was caught in the middle of a conversation regarding Minho’s ‘goings on.’ He never thought he’d be faced with this topic even once, but it was happening again, and he didn’t know how he was supposed to distract his imagination while trapped in a small car with the man himself right next to him. He didn’t know if what he felt was jealousy, or something else.

“Enough discussion about my dick,” Minho ordered, with an annoying smirk like he wasn’t embarrassed at all. “Where are we stopping first?”

Hyunjin took the first exit, and the car swerved onto I-11o. “We’re stopping by a liquor store to stock up for the night, then we’ll get settled into our hotel, then it’s off to watch them ring the Friendship Bell. We’ll hit the beach after that and get drunk off our asses.”

They drove the remainder of the way in relative silence, until Hyunjin parked in front of M & P Liquor and they all got out and stretched. They purchased twice as much alcohol as Jisung would normally drink in a week, then loaded it all into the trunk and got on their way to Pacific Inn & Suites. Jisung watched the streets of San Pedro pass by outside his window, appreciating the different view even though it wasn’t the first time he’d been there. They reached the hotel and parked next to Chan’s truck, climbing out of the car and lugging their duffel bags to the front desk where Chan, Changbin, Jeongin, and someone who was probably Seungmin were waiting for them.

“It’s about time,” Chan greeted them.

“Sorry, we stopped at Macca’s,” said Felix.

“Understandable,” Chan acknowledged. “Anyway, this is Seungmin, he was my junior back in high school and now he’s studying law.”

“Lawyer, eh? Sounds like fun.” Jisung shook hands with Seungmin politely. He was an innocent-looking kid with a wide smile and a puppy-dog air about him, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“It’s not,” replied Seungmin. “It’s a lot of paperwork, sleepless nights, and stress.”

Minho was giving Seungmin a look that was either jealousy or disdain. Jisung remembered his story, about his dad, about the law firm. He’d acted nonchalant about the whole situation before, but perhaps it bothered him a little more than he let on, and Seungmin’s choice of major had brought back feelings he’d been trying to avoid. 

They checked in and distributed the room keys. Minho and Jisung would be in 103, on the ground floor, next to Chan and Changbin and beneath Felix and Hyunjin. It was a small room with basic amenities—two queen-sized beds, a TV, a kitchenette with a microwave and mini-fridge, a bathroom with a one-person shower stall and several mini shampoo bottles, a telephone with a direct line to the front desk, and a radiator by the window. There was also a pamphlet next to the phone detailing any information guests may need regarding the hotel’s offered features, the parking policy, the Wi-Fi password, and the available TV channels. 

Minho looked around and hummed, satisfied. “Do you care which bed you sleep in?”

“Not really,” Jisung answered quickly, “but if you don’t mind . . . I’d prefer the one closest to the window. B-But it doesn’t really matter either way.”

Minho chuckled to himself and threw his duffel bag on the leftmost bed. “Okay, you take that one then. Do you think we’ll drink all the alcohol tonight, or should we save some in the fridge?”

Jisung snorted. “Knowing the way Hyunjin and Felix drink, we’ll probably finish it tonight. _If_ there happens to be any left over later, _then_ we’ll put it in the fridge.”

Minho checked his phone. “It’s almost nine-thirty, we have time to get settled before we go to the Friendship Bell. They ring it at noon, right?”

“Yes, which means I am going to take a nap,” Jisung announced, belly-flopping onto his bed and rolling himself in the covers like a sausage. He sank into the pillow and mattress like he was being welcomed by the comforting arms of God Himself, and his eyelids immediately felt heavy.

“Mind if I watch TV?” Minho asked.

“No, have at ‘er,” Jisung replied.

Minho sat on his own bed and switched on the TV, flipping through the channels until he got to some morning talk show for middle-aged moms, and Jisung giggled into his pillow at the prospect of Minho actually _enjoying_ shows like that. Pretty soon after, the noise of celebrity gossip and crowd laughter put him to sleep, a serene and dark and dreamless slumber that he didn’t want to wake up from.

Unfortunately, he was awoken, barely two hours later, by Minho pressing something cold and wet to the back of his neck. He startled and sprang up, scrambling back, only to see Minho laughing and holding a complimentary water bottle he’d gotten from the mini-fridge. Jisung cursed and wiped the back of his neck, tossing the covers off himself.

“Time to go, everyone’s leaving. Hyunjin and Felix are waiting for us outside,” Minho said. 

“Okay, okay, I’m coming. Jeez, fuckin’ gave me a heart attack . . .” Jisung grumbled, putting his shoes and his hat back on and following Minho out to Hyunjin’s car. They got in and pulled away from the hotel, following after Chan’s truck down the street that led straight to Angels Gate Park, which housed the Korean Bell of Friendship. It was a massive bronze bell gifted to the United States as a symbol of friendship back in the seventies, and was ceremonially rung five times a year—New Year’s Eve, Korean-American Day, the Fourth of July, Korean Liberation Day, and Constitution Day; as well as thirteen times on the first Saturday of every month, exactly at noon. 

Hyunjin parked the car and they got out, running like excited schoolchildren toward the small crowd that had amassed around the belfry—the pavilion which housed the bell—traditionally designed and held up by tall columns, each one representing an animal of the Korean zodiac with that animal carved into the wood as a guardian of sorts. The bell would be rung from the outside, struck by a large wooden log that hung horizontally on one side and would swing in a pendulum fashion. The whole structure stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the American city, but to Jisung it felt very familiar, and he realized all of a sudden just how much he missed his homeland, his family, his culture. Seeing it before him was like a small taste of something he wanted so much, and as Hyunjin came behind him and swung an arm over his shoulders, his heart started to hurt a little less.

A man, likely one who worked at the park or with the Bell Association, approached the hanging wood log and grabbed hold of the long chain attached to the back end of it. He pulled the chain taut, tugging it until the log was a great distance from the bell, and released, the log swinging and clanging against the bell full-force, and it let out a reverberating, bass-heavy ring that shook the ground and rattled Jisung’s bones. The eight of them stood in a line with their arms wrapped around each other, Minho on one side of Jisung and Hyunjin on the other, watching as the bell was rung twelve more times, each ring just as impactful as the last.

When it was over, Hyunjin cheered and started passing out vodka coolers. “Here’s to us! Eight Korean friends studying in this unforgiving and unfair American world. I’ll drink to that.”

“Hyunjin . . . this is a ceremony, why did you bring Smirnoff?” Chan asked as he was handed one of the bottles.

“It’s not a _ceremony_ , those are only on holidays,” Hyunjin argued, “and it’s Smirnoff _Ice_ , it’s only five-percent. A little pregame before the beach.”

Chan rolled his eyes but nonetheless cracked the cap on the bottle and took a gulp, smacking his lips at the taste. “You know, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to drink in public parks.”

Hyunjin made a farting sound with his mouth. “Yeah, but who’s gonna stop us? It’s also illegal to smoke in public parks, and we’ve never had problems before.”

Changbin went up behind Chan and smacked the small of his back. “It’s also illegal to drink on public beaches, which was the _whole plan_ for tonight. Stop being such a narc.”

“I’m not a _narc_ , I’m just worried about getting a ticket,” Chan muttered. “We’ll probably be fine drinking at the beach at night since there’s less people around, unless one of you assholes decides to light a fire and get us chased out. Remember _last_ time?”

“When that ranger came and barked at us because our bonfire got a _tad_ out of hand? Yeah, I remember. Good times,” said Felix, wistfully. 

“ _No_ , not good times! You were stupid drunk and started yelling insults at the ranger! It was only thanks to _me_ apologizing and herding you all away that stopped us from getting arrested,” Chan scolded.

Felix waved a hand at him. “Please, we weren’t going to get _arrested_. It was just a little fire.”

Chan hollered, “It was not _little_! It was almost touching the clouds! And, like I said, you were drunk off your arse and insulting an officer, calling him a ‘fucking old windbag’ and saying you were going to ‘fuck his wife.’ Remember _that_?”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Meh, he wasn’t an officer, just a park ranger who feels powerful because he has a fancy truck and a badge. _Puh-leez_.”

Chan looked like he wanted to say more, but instead he curled his hand into a fist and bit his tongue, giving Felix a harsh glare. Jisung and Minho glanced at each other with wide eyes—neither of them had been at the ‘bonfire’ they were discussing, as Minho had been at work and Jisung had been studying for a test he had coming up. Thus, they didn’t know the exact happenings of the situation, nor whether it was really worth arguing about.

Hyunjin touched a hand to his heart and looked up as though fending off tears. “Aww, isn’t this sweet? Us friends, sharing our memories here, at the Bell of Friendship?”

“Ha, sure. Except not all of us really _have_ memories together,” Jisung quipped, referring to Seungmin and Jeongin, whom he’d only recently met.

“Then we should make some. Tonight will be one,” Minho said. Jisung looked at him, and he was looking right back, tenderness in his eyes. He added, “After all, we’re friends, aren’t we?”

Jisung had to duck his head and purse his lips to hide the big smile that wanted to spread across his face. He could hear the excited pitter-patter of his own heart in his ears, and the more he thought about it the louder it got. Minho had opened up to him. He _wanted_ to be friends. Or, maybe he was referring to all of them, collectively? Or he simply felt bad about what he’d said before? Either way, Jisung was happy—stupidly happy, maybe more so than he should’ve been. There was no reason for Minho’s friendship to mean that much to him, and it certainly didn’t before, so why now? 

When Jisung looked up again, Minho was still looking at him, but there was a certain shyness in his posture that hadn’t been there before that greatly intrigued Jisung. There was so much he didn’t know about Minho’s mind, his character, his personality, and that vexed him. He wanted to know. He wanted to know so bad.

Hyunjin suddenly came up to them and stuck his head between their faces, looking from Jisung to Minho and back again. He said, “Um, sorry to interrupt this . . . whatever this is, but if you guys are going to kiss, could you do it somewhere else? I’m feeling _very_ single watching you.”

Minho looked away, the tips of his ears tinted pink. Jisung found that odd. Where was his snarky retort? His sharp denial? Where was the Minho that always stood up to Hyunjin, so much so that Hyunjin found him scary at times? All that was gone, replaced with blushing silence.

Jisung spoke up in his place. “ _Excuse you_ , we were having a moment. We’re bonding, isn’t that what you wanted?”

Hyunjin scrunched up his nose. “Well, do it somewhere else, I’m lonely!”

Minho shook away the flush on his cheeks and swallowed thickly. Then, he pat Hyunjin comfortingly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to kiss. Jamie isn’t around.”

Jisung snorted a laugh, and Minho smiled cheekily. They looked at each other again, a mutual and exclusive understanding between them. Hyunjin glanced back and forth, confused, then stood up and spat, “You two have inside jokes now? Ugh, goodbye. You’re grossing me out.”

They giggled as Hyunjin stalked away. It was Jisung’s turn to get pinkish ears, as he realized that they did, in fact, have inside jokes. Or at least, they had _one_ inside joke. That was enough; one meant they had memories that were solely theirs, words that belonged to them only. One meant the prospect of having more, more things that were _ours_ , more things that made them real friends, at last.

***

They had spent some of the afternoon at the park before driving back to the hotel and piling into Hyunjin and Felix’s room to watch TV. Rather, it was mostly overlapping chatter while the TV played some detective show in the background. Hyunjin spent a while trying to teach Felix how to do vape tricks such as The Ghost, The Dragon, and The French Inhale. Jisung learned more about Seungmin—that he worked at a convenience store, had an older sister, and was a morning person—and Jeongin—that he was studying to be a teacher and had two brothers, one older and one younger. The three of them swapped stories about their older siblings; Seungmin telling them about how his sister used to put makeup on him when he was a toddler, Jeongin recounting how his brother once broke the rearview mirror of their parents’ car when he took it for a joyride and blamed it on him, and Jisung told them about the time his brother woke him up at midnight to sneakily watch _Paranormal Activity_ with him because their parents wouldn’t allow Jisung to see it. 

At sundown, they divvied up the alcohol to carry to the beach and embarked on the ten-minute walk there. Cabrillo Beach was a historic site located at the Port of Los Angeles West Channel and offered attractions such as surfing waters, a lighthouse, a fishing pier, and a bathhouse that was built in the 30’s. They found a less-populated spot on the inner beach, the part of the sands that laid within the breakwater, where the ocean was calm. Chan and Changbin spread out a few large blankets to sit on while the rest of them passed the alcohol around. Jisung took a moment to admire the sunset on the horizon that spread orange glimmer over the gentle waves, gradually turning redder as it dipped into the sea, the haze around the glowing ball painting the blue sky in fire. The air tasted salty on the roof of his mouth, and the breeze crept beneath his clothes, making him shiver and clutch his arms.

“Cold?” Someone asked from behind him. He turned to see Minho, holding open a black hoodie invitingly. Jisung nodded dumbly. “I thought you might be. Here, put this on.”

Jisung slowly stuck his arms through the sleeves and let Minho pull the hoodie over his shoulders. He zipped it up, then turned around again. “Won’t you be cold, though?”

“I’m not right now. I have another hoodie in case,” Minho said, itching his bicep. “I brought that one because, um . . . Well, when I saw you didn’t take one with you, I thought you’d be cold, so . . .”

Jisung’s lips tightened and his eyebrows turned up. He’d never seen Minho stammer, or scratch at his arm in a nervous way, nor had he expected him to be so forward-thinking for the sake of another. Jisung was touched that it seemed Minho wanted this friendship as much as he did, if he was going so far as to bring an extra jacket for him. The hoodie smelled like Minho, musky like his sweat along with the faint hint of his cologne, and a little like Febreze. It smelled warm, comfortable, and felt like a hug. Jisung didn’t want to take it off.

They went to join the others at the blankets, and were immediately given a bottle each, Chan pushing White Lightning vodka into Jisung’s hands and Felix ushering Minho to drink Captain Morgan’s rum. They both unscrewed the caps and took their shots in unison, then scrambled for the two-litre of Grower’s sparkling cider to wash down the taste. Jisung beat Minho to it, chasing his shot, then passed it into Minho’s impatient hands so he could do the same.

Hyunjin tapped Jisung on the shoulder and leaned close to him, whispering, “Is that Minho’s hoodie?”

“Yeah, he brought it for me. Why?” Jisung responded.

“He . . . _brought_ you his hoodie?” Hyunjin pressed further.

Jisung took another shot followed by a gulp of chase. “Yeah, so? Is there something wrong with that?”

Hyunjin took the vodka from him, drinking from it without so much as a flinch. “That’s very . . . _boyfriend-y_ of him, to do that. Something you want to tell me? Like, for real?”

Jisung rolled his eyes. “Just because he does something nice doesn’t mean he likes me, or that we’re a ‘thing,’ or whatever. Need I remind you once again that I’m straight?”

“I’m still unconvinced about that,” Hyunjin remarked, eyes squinted suspiciously and his arms crossed. “I saw how you watched him dance at the club the other day. You had a face-boner.”

“I was just surprised by it, that’s all,” Jisung argued, “and what the fuck is a face-boner?”

Hyunjin didn’t answer that, just turned his head away with a tired huff. They continued to drink until the sun had disappeared and the sky filled with stars, at which point Felix brought out his piece and they each took a small hit to level out the dizziness from the alcohol—all except Jeongin, who said he only _occasionally_ does edibles. Jisung leaned his head back to absorb his mellow high, his body jellylike and buzzing at the same time, his brain escaping him and soaring for the dark clouds above. It was at this point that Changbin evilly suggested a game of Truth Or Dare.

“I’ll go first!” he announced. “Channie, truth or dare?”

Chan, visibly drunk off the bottle of Crown Royal he held in his hand, thought about it for a little too long. “Humm . . . Dare!”

Changbin rubbed his hands together with a devilish grin. “Okay. Channie, I dare you to slap your butt to the tune of a song, and keep going until one of us guesses which song it is!”

“You got it,” Chan agreed shamelessly. He stood up and turned around, presenting his backside to the group, then proceeded to tap out a rhythm on his butt cheeks. Everyone leaned in to hear, ears peeled, all the while trying their best not to laugh.

Seungmin suddenly snapped his fingers and shouted giddily, “I got it! _Shoot Me_ by DAY6!”

Chan turned around and gave him finger-guns and a wink. “Correct! Since you got it right, I’ll ask you. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” declared Seungmin, “I’m not afraid.”

“Okay.” Chan nodded. “I dare you . . . to act like whatever animal someone yells out first.”

Felix was the first to call out, “Elephant!”

Seungmin sighed, then reluctantly began to imitate an elephant, putting his arm out in front of his face and waving it up and down, running in circles around the group and braying. He returned to his spot amidst a chorus of gleeful giggling, and put his face in his hands, embarrassed at himself.

“Alright, since you made me do that . . . Felix, truth or dare?” Seungmin asked.

“Truth. I care not to find out what you’d do to me as revenge,” Felix decided.

Seungmin shrugged. “I’ll still have my revenge. Tell us, what are your top three turn-ons?”

“Oh, fuck . . . Okay, fine. Uh, blindfolds, ropes, and . . .” Felix mumbled the last one, quietly enough that they couldn’t hear.

“Sorry, what was that?” Seungmin pressed.

Felix grit his teeth and forced out, “Orgasm denial.”

“Like, not letting yourself come?” Hyunjin wondered.

Felix grumbled sheepishly, “Yes. Well, rather . . . someone _else_ not letting me. I like to, uhh, beg for it . . .”

“Dang. Wait, aren’t you _Catholic_?” Hyunjin asked with a chuckle.

Felix puffed out his chest, suddenly free of his shame. “Yeah, yeah I am. You know what? I get bound and teased on Saturday night and go to church Sunday morning. Got a problem with that? Only God can judge me.”

“Oh, He _will_ ,” Hyunjin snorted. “The Catholics are always the freaky ones, huh?”

“Okay, just for that,” Felix shot, “Hyunjin, truth or dare?”

Hyunjin smirked. “Truth. Hit me. I’m an open book.”

Felix grinned. “Excellent. Where was the weirdest place you ever had sex?”

“Oh, no, not _that_ . . .” Hyunjin begged. “You already know the answer! I told you before!”

“I know. I want everyone else to hear this,” Felix demanded.

Hyunjin groaned loudly and carded his hands through his hair, looking like he might cry. “Okay, okay, it was . . . on a bench. In a public park. There, I said it! Okay? I admit it!”

Felix threw his head back and cackled, so noisily Jisung could swear he scared the birds from the trees. Chan looked at Hyunjin with wide eyes, then rubbed his face and looked again, as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Minho chuckled into his hand and glanced away shyly.

“Oh my,” Jisung proclaimed, “that’s . . . very risky. What the Hell, Hyunjin?”

“It was dark, no one was around,” Hyunjin defended, “and both of us were pretty drunk. It just sorta happened? I don’t know, I’m not proud of it.”

Felix barely finished laughing before he mumbled out, wiping a tear from his eye, “Oh, that is _rich_. Was she riding you? Did you get off on the possibility of being seen?”

Hyunjin glared violently at Felix, his hands balled into fists. “ _You_ of all people cannot judge me, Mr. Make-Me-Beg, so shut your trap. Anyway, enough about my endeavors, I need to embarrass someone else. Jisung, truth or dare?”

“Me? Why am _I_ your victim?” Jisung exclaimed. Then he sighed. “Truth, I guess. Go easy, please.”

“Do you know me at all?” Hyunjin smiled evilly. “Jisungie, tell me, honestly. When you kissed Minho, did you secretly like it?”

Minho, Chan, and Felix grew deathly quiet, waiting with bated breath, gripped with apprehension and second-hand embarrassment. On the other hand, Changbin, Seungmin, and Jeongin leaned forward with blown expressions, completely shocked by the revelation.

“Wait . . . you _what_?” Changbin shouted. “You kissed _who_?”

Jisung complained, “Hyunjin! Not everyone knew about that!”

Hyunjin shrugged, nonchalant. “They do now. Relax, it’s not like anyone cares. Now, answer the question.”

Jisung gulped, gripping the neck of the vodka bottle. “Uhh . . . I change my mind. I pick dare.”

“Nope, can’t do that,” Hyunjin sang. “Even if you did pick dare, you know what I’d dare you to do, don’t you?”

Jisung moaned ungraciously, making a distressed face. “Please, spare me. Can I take a shot, instead?”

“ _No_. Answer the question,” Hyunjin ordered.

Jisung looked at Minho, who was glancing at him with round eyes, as though badly pretending not to care when really he was desperate to know the answer. Jisung looked to the sky and took a shot anyway, deciding he’d need it. He gulped, and finally admitted, “Fine, yes. Minho is a good kisser, so . . . it wasn’t bad.”

“It _wasn’t bad_? Or you _liked_ it?” Hyunjin dug deeper.

“I liked it! Okay, fuck, I liked it! Are you happy now?” Jisung hollered, cheeks burning like a stovetop. “Now enough about this! Minho, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Minho answered quickly.

Jisung spoke without thinking. “Did _you_ like the kiss?”

“Yes,” Minho answered quickly, again.

It hit Jisung like a freight train, and he swayed backwards, the force of the whole exchange coming in at a hundred miles an hour, and he realized exactly what he’d just asked, and what Minho had just answered. They stared at each other, Jisung flushed—both from the alcohol and the situation in front of him—while Minho was a mixture of stony seriousness and quivering nervousness. The rest of the circle was awkwardly silence, Hyunjin staring with pursed lips while Felix rested his mouth on his fist and looked at the sand. Chan and Changbin held each other’s hands for comfort, looking like they’d just watched a bomb land, and in a way, they had.

After _the_ longest stretch of quiet Jisung had ever heard in his life, Hyunjin finally broke it with a cough, then said, “All right, well, this game has gotten just a _bit_ out of hand. I say we all get drunk enough that we forget about this tomorrow. Oh, and if anyone needs anything from Jisung or Minho later tonight, no you don’t. Leave them alone, they probably need privacy tonight.”

Minho gave a forced chuckle and shook his head. “No, no, listen, both of us are experienced kissers, so of course it’d be good, but it’s not like it happened out of passion. We only did it to make my ex jealous. Besides, he’s straight, and I don’t, like, _like_ him. So relax, people.”

Jisung glanced thankfully at him. It was true that the game had gotten out of hand, and more had been revealed than probably needed to be revealed, and Hyunjin’s suggestion of getting too drunk to remember it later seemed inviting. He gulped down more of the disgusting, cheap vodka, loosening himself up, then chased it with a full bladder’s worth of cider. He regretted that decision later that night, when he was throwing up in a bush by the rocky breakwater, Hyunjin rubbing his back and mumbling slurred, soothing words. After his stomach had settled, he joined the others, dancing by the waterside to Chan’s playlist of old-and-new boogie music. They grooved until their feet were sore, then laid down on the blankets and talked about all the deep and shallow aspects of life, society, and the universe until Jisung blacked out.

Minho was right. This night would be a memory for all of them. Or not.


	6. San Marcos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> I thought I'd apologize for the late update before by releasing this, slightly shorter, chapter quite early. Did I do good? This is quite a special chapter, and I won't lie I almost cried while writing it, but that could just be because I'm sleep-deprived ^^'' I really pushed myself to write this quickly so I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it!
> 
> Small trigger warning:  
> This chapter contains mild-to-severe homophobia (non-violent) and use of the f-slur. Please be mindful while reading if these things can be distressing for you :)
> 
> A reminder to follow me on Twitter (@/reineard) for updates on new chapters and sneak-peeks, and I will recommend you all follow the Spotify playlist (link to it in my pinned thread on Twitter)! As soon as I start writing a new chapter and decide which song to use, I will add it to the playlist, so if you keep an eye out you can get small spoilers for new chapters by listening to the song before it comes out!
> 
> Once again, thank you all SO MUCH for the love on this story and all your kudos and wonderful, wonderful comments. You all bring me so much joy and motivate me to keep going. Let me know what you think of this chapter in the comments!
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "San Marcos" by Brockhampton!
> 
> Happy reading~

_I want more out of life than this._   
_I want more, I want more._

Jisung woke up without opening his eyes, fearing what he’d see if he did, already feeling the pounding in his head like a door-knocker on an old Victorian mansion. He didn’t remember getting back to the hotel the night before, but he could feel himself lying on the plush bed, covers off and clothes still on, his head resting on a soft pillow that smelled like warmth and faintly of Versace perfume. Strange, Jisung didn’t wear Versace. He didn’t think about it much, he couldn’t, with the way his head ached, so he laid there like a corpse, the gentle rise-and-fall of his pillow threatening to lull him back to sleep.

Wait—rise-and-fall? 

Instead of looking, which he still felt too exhausted to do just yet, he felt around with his hand, dragging it up the expanse of fabric he laid upon. He shifted in place, and felt something draped around him—not a blanket, rather something thin and a little firm, starting beneath his head and wrapping around to end at his waist. He crawled his hand higher, and grabbed hold of something above him, something both hard and squishy at the same time, so he squeezed it, and it made a noise. His pillow beneath him jerked slightly, and a hand grabbed him by the wrist and tugged him off the thing he was grabbing. Finally, curiosity bested him, and he decided to look.

Jisung lifted his head and glanced up, into the face of Minho just as he was opening his eyes. He realized what he was lying on was not a pillow at all, but actually Minho’s chest, right in the crook of his arm which was wrapped around him, and the ‘thing’ he’d grabbed was actually Minho’s face. They were both lying on the far side of Jisung’s bed, by the window, and in their drunken stupor had somehow ended up in this position. 

Minho grunted and twisted up his face for a moment, likely due to the headache he most definitely had. “Mmf. Morning.”

Jisung sprang up, then immediately regretted it, as the whole room swayed and his skull felt like it’d been split open. He dropped his face into his hands and groaned. “What happened? Why are we sleeping together? Did we—?”

“I don’t think so. Our clothes are still on,” Minho explained pointedly, sitting up. “So, if we did, it wasn’t very interesting.”

Jisung chuckled lightly as Minho got up from the bed, stretching out his back. He went on, “I think we just came in and collapsed. We stayed out ‘til morning last night, after all. Do you need Advil? I brought some.”

“Yes _please_ ,” Jisung begged, reaching out a hand. Minho dug a hand through his bag and pulled out a bottle of gel capsules, taking one himself before handing one to Jisung. As he took his pill, he muttered, “So much for paying for two beds . . .”

“Hmm?” Minho hummed questioningly.

“Nothin’,” Jisung said.

Minho nodded and went around the room, making sure he had all his stuff. It was then that a phone rang, and when Jisung checked, it wasn’t his, and besides he hadn’t had his ringer on since the day he was born. Minho came over and found his phone on his own bed, picking it up and answering it, taking the call into the bathroom with him as though it was private. Jisung looked quizzically after him, but it wasn’t his business anyway, so he got under the covers and decided to get more sleep.

The bathroom door opened again after several minutes and Minho came out, phone clutched in his fist and an expression on his face of displeasure. He approached Jisung’s bed and flicked his nose, making him flinch.

“You can’t sleep, it’s almost noon. We have to check out,” he said. 

Jisung moaned sorrowfully into his pillow. “Say it ain’t so . . .”

“Sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” Minho said unapologetically. “Get your stuff ready, and get changed. You smell like a distillery.”

Jisung unwillingly got out of the bed and stood up, finding a change of clothes in his bag and putting them on—a black Supreme shirt and ripped blue jeans. He put the same white cap and shoes on, collected his bag, and followed Minho to the check-out desk.

“What was that phone call about?” he decided to ask, carefully.

Minho forced a smile. “Just my dad. It’s nothing.”

“You sure?” Jisung worried.

Minho nodded insistently. They checked out of their room and regrouped by Hyunjin’s car, where Felix was waiting with his backpack slung around his front and tired eyes. Chan bid them good-bye as he got into his truck, where Changbin, Seungmin, and Jeongin were already sitting within, Jeongin appearing to be asleep on Seungmin’s shoulder. Hyunjin left his room and joined them, unlocking his car so they could pile their bags in the trunk, then they all piled in.

“So, Jisungie, Minho, how was it last night?” Hyunjin asked suggestively, waggling his eyebrows. He was far too sunny considering the night they’d had.

“ _Sensational_. I rocked his world,” Jisung said sarcastically. When Hyunjin actually believed him, staring with wide eyes and an excited smile, he added, “Kidding. We collapsed on our beds and fell asleep as soon as we got in. Relax.”

He conveniently left out that they’d actually slept together, on the same bed, tucked in each other’s arms, because there was _no way_ he would let Hyunjin find out about that, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. Far too much had been revealed publicly last night—that they’d kissed, that Minho had brought Jisung his hoodie to wear, that both of them had _enjoyed_ the kiss. Hyunjin, nor any of the others, needed to know any more, or else Jisung wouldn’t live it down.

Minho was resting his head on the windowsill of the car and giggling, either at Jisung’s sarcastic remark or Hyunjin’s festering interest in their private endeavors. He went quiet, though, when his phone pinged as a text came in, and he checked it, only to scowl at the screen and turn his phone off. Jisung was unnecessarily concerned about that—something was bothering him, that was obvious, but he wasn’t open to talking about it, and that was worrisome to say the least. 

As Hyunjin put the car in gear, Jisung asked him, “Are you even okay to drive? Aren’t you hungover?”

“Psh, nah. I’m good. I didn’t drink as much as _you_ did, and I hold my liquor well,” Hyunjin insisted.

Jisung would argue with that, but he held his tongue as they drove off. The ride back to Los Angeles was very different from the ride to San Pedro, quiet and still, Felix asleep in the front seat and Minho staring out the window, the radio playing on low volume. The soft melodies of classic rock playing through the speakers eventually put Jisung to sleep himself, and he wasn’t awoken until they’d pulled up outside his apartment. He and Minho got out, collected their bags, and waved good-bye to Hyunjin as he drove away.

They got inside and Jisung immediately kicked off his shoes and threw his duffel bag down on his bedroom floor, then flopped onto the couch with a loud, contented sigh. He was about to switch on the TV when Minho’s phone rang again, and Minho answered it with an angry exhale. Before escaping into the bathroom, Jisung heard him snap, “Dad, I _said_ I would think about it—!”

Jisung watched the bathroom door with narrow eyes, hearing the muffled sound of Minho’s voice but unable to make out the words he was saying. After a few minutes, Minho reemerged, throwing the door open with a frustrated huff, then when he caught Jisung watching him he relaxed his shoulders.

He came to sit on the couch. “Okay, you have questions.”

“I do,” Jisung said. “What’s going on? Can I help?”

“Probably not,” Minho admitted. Then he shrugged. “It’s not that big a deal, really. It’s just . . . tomorrow is the ten-year wedding anniversary of my dad and my step-mom, and they’re holding this big banquet to celebrate, and they want me to come but I haven’t decided yet if I want to. Now they’re badgering me constantly, even my step-brother is texting me.”

Jisung nodded understandingly. He gently asked, “What’s the problem, exactly?”

“I never liked my dad’s marriage to my step-mom. Never approved of it,” Minho explained, with a face like he’d tasted poison in his mouth. “She was my dad’s secretary at the law firm. He cheated on my mom with her, and when my mom found out, she divorced him. Then they got married. I was twelve at the time.”

“Oh. That sounds like kind of a big deal,” Jisung said quietly. He resisted the urge to touch Minho’s shoulder, instead rubbing his own thigh. “Their marriage hurt you, and now they’re asking you to come celebrate it. That would piss me off too.”

“Yeah, well. I think I _should_ go. If my dad’s only son doesn’t show up, he must be an asshole, right? I’d turn into the ‘black sheep’ of my father’s side of the family, and as much as we have our differences, I don’t really want that.” Minho chuckled lightly. “But I just _know_ it will be an insufferable night, I don’t know if I can take it. My dad will most definitely try to convince me again to become a lawyer, and by extension, he’ll try to convince me to be straight. I’d also bet you any money he’ll have some pretty girl to introduce me to, some friend-of-a-friend’s daughter that he hopes I’ll ‘get to know.’ We’ll probably end up fighting . . .”

Jisung thought for a moment. He didn’t know what he could do. He wanted to help, but how? This was Minho’s personal family business that he had no role in. Then, suddenly, an idea came to him. “Well, what if you were to bring your boyfriend to this family function? Your dad wouldn’t be able to force some girl on you, then.”

Minho laughed at the thought. “Right. That’d be pretty great, actually. It’d _really_ piss him off if I brought a _boy_ with me as my date. There’s just one, itty-bitty problem with that plan, though. I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“Jamie thinks you do,” Jisung whispered.

Minho looked at him, confused, until his lips parted and his eyes widened as it set in what Jisung was suggesting. He mumbled, “Wait . . . you’d do that? For me?”

Jisung shrugged. “Yeah. I mean, we’ve done the fake-boyfriend thing, what, three times already? We’ve gotten good at it, and convinced two people that we’re actually dating. _Three_ people, if you count Hyunjin.”

“Right. Hyunjin. We didn’t try to do that one, though.” Minho laughed. “But, hold on, I don’t think you realize what you’re saying. Those other times, we were only fake-boyfriends for like, five minutes. If you came with me to this banquet, we’d have to fake it for a few _hours_ , at least. That’s a lot. I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”

Jisung waved his hands. “Few hours? C’mon, that’s nothing. All we have to do is stand close to one another and hold hands or whatever. If it’ll help make the banquet less insufferable for you, I’ll do it. No problem.”

“Really?” Minho’s eyes were big, and he smiled, small and grateful.

Jisung smiled back. “Yeah. I’ve never been someone’s fake-boyfriend for a night. It’ll be fun.”

“Okay, well, a couple things,” Minho put a finger up, as if to say ‘slow your roll.’ “The anniversary is being held in Escondido, and it’s an almost two-hour drive there, so we’d be staying overnight in a hotel, again. You won’t have to pay anything, my dad’s covering it all.”

“Sounds fine to me, then. Escondido? I’ve never been there,” Jisung agreed.

“It’s real close to San Marcos,” said Minho. “The banquet hall is called Blue Night. We’d be staying at a nearby hotel that’s technically in San Marcos. I looked it up online, apparently it’s three-stars but judging by the pictures it looks like luxury to me.”

Jisung grinned and clapped his hands giddily. “Ooh, I’m excited now! A banquet, free food, free hotel, pissing off parents? Sign me the fuck up!”

Minho snorted and gave a small shrug. “All right, then, if you’re sure. I’ll call my dad and tell him I’m bringing a ‘plus-one.’”

Jisung nodded and watched as he got up, taking his phone with him to the kitchen, where he turned on the Keurig. There was a new energy in Jisung’s body, some sort of strange cocktail of excitement, apprehension, and nervousness mixing in his stomach. He was going to be Minho’s fake-boyfriend for a whole night. There was a part of him that regretted ever suggesting that, for fear of how it might turn out, but there was another part—a bigger one—that was glad he did. After all, a party? Free food and drinks? Free hotel? It was like he’d won the lottery, and all he had to do in exchange was hold Minho’s hand a lot and maybe slow-dance with him, and Jisung felt strangely comfortable with the prospect of that.

“Hi, dad. Yeah, it’s me. I decided I’ll come, but I’ll be bringing someone with me. That alright?” Minho spoke on the phone, leaning against the kitchen sink while he left the Keurig machine running. “Okay. Okay, great. Sounds good. Yeah, see you tomorrow. Bye.”

He hung up, and Jisung called after him, “Everything good?”

Minho collected his coffee mug from the Keurig and returned to the couch. “Yup. All good. He just said, y’know, it’s a banquet, so cocktail attire is required. You have a suit, right?”

“Yeah, ‘course. I almost never wear it, but, it’s tailored, so,” Jisung said, adjusting his imaginary shirt collar with a smug smile. 

Minho snickered incredulously at him. “Great.”

They spent most of the afternoon on the couch together, watching cartoons until sunset, enjoying comfortable silence. When dinner time rolled around, Minho ordered Chinese take-out, which they ate together at the two-person dining table in the kitchen. Minho told Jisung about some of the construction he’d done around LA—mostly office buildings, with the occasional renovation project or café thrown in. He said that, funnily enough, he’d actually helped build the interior of the coffee shop he worked at, and that little fact had helped him get the job as a barista. 

Jisung was normally a very talkative person, but at dinner he mostly just listened, and he thoroughly enjoyed learning more about Minho, about what he did when he was out of the house. He enjoyed watching Minho’s eyes light up and crinkle when he thought of something funny, he enjoyed the way Minho seemed so excited to tell some stories that he wouldn’t even finish a mouthful before continuing to speak, and he enjoyed the way Minho would talk with his hands, making wild gestures to emphasize his words. It was all very entertaining, and oddly, very endearing, too.

***

Jisung sat in the passenger’s seat of Hyunjin’s car, hands in his lap, fiddling with his own thumbs as a sort of nervous tic. He was wearing black suit pants and a black blazer, over a white button-up shirt that was undone at the top, and no tie. He’d done his hair and even put on a little makeup, just a light dusting of foundation and some eyebrow filler, enough to touch up his features. Minho, who sat next to him in the driver’s seat, wore a grey suit with a brown belt and black shirt, also sans tie and with a button undone, but he’d done up his blazer and even had a pocket square. His hair was styled off his forehead and he had makeup on, too. Jisung remembered seeing him exit the bathroom that morning, fully dressed up, and he remembered that his jaw had nearly dropped to the floor. The suit fit him perfectly and hugged every curve of his body, and Jisung had never seen him look so dazzling. He’d gone from hardworking college boy to _heir_ , a true rich-man’s son, and the most heart-stopping thing about it was that he was Jisung’s date for the night.

The car was parked in the lot outside Blue Night Banquet Hall, and Jisung could see other guests walking towards it in the rear-view mirror, all prettied up in their floral dresses and expensive suits, and he realized just how out-of-place he was. Minho was the one who came from wealth, and he _looked_ like it, too, not to mention he was the son of the host. Jisung, on the other hand, felt shabby in his discount black suit. Sure, it was tailored, but that meant shit compared to the other attendees, compared to his _date_. He bit his lip, his anxiety increasing in waves the longer they sat in the car.

Minho let out a sigh. “Well. Here we go. Ready?”

Jisung smiled away his anxiety. “Yep. Let’s give ‘em Hell.”

Minho took the keys out of the ignition and they exited the car. Jisung was rooted to his spot, feet refusing to move, until Minho came around and held out a hand with a reassuring smile. He took his hand and they walked together into the foyer of the banquet hall, which was crowded with people all grouped into little cliques, family members and friends mingling together, Jisung feeling like the only odd one out. Soon after, the doors to the main hall opened, and the crowd began to slowly filter in. Jisung’s eyes couldn’t believe what they were seeing—marble columns up walls that were white as porcelain, sparkling chandeliers hanging from the ceiling painted like a cloudy blue sky, tables set up with vases full of roses as centerpieces, a small dance floor with strobe lights, and a stage with two white thrones for the man-and-woman of honour. It was what Jisung imagined Heaven to look like, all glitter and splashes of white-and-gold, and accents of baby blue. It was both dizzying and incredible at the same time.

Each guest had their own place setting, marked by a square of paper propped on the plate, so they gradually went to find their spots. Minho and Jisung were seated together at the center table at the end of the aisle leading down from the stage, next to a plate that was named ‘Jeremy Evans-Lee’ and across from plates called ‘Sangcheol Sean Lee’ and ‘Helena Evans-Lee.’ Jisung realized with a start they were sitting at the table reserved for close family members, and his anxiety started to creep back to him.

Two couples came and sat down on either side of the Sean and Helena seats, one of them a Korean couple and the other a white couple. The two pairs exchanged friendly greetings, then simultaneously glanced over at Minho.

“Wow, he actually showed up!” said the Korean man, who wore a fitted black suit-and-tie and too much cologne. “How’re you doing, Minho? Haven’t heard much of ya, as of late.”

The white woman got a big smile on her pink-lipsticked mouth. She wore a pink dress with a floral pattern, and had her brown hair pinned to the side and tumbling in waves over her shoulder. “Hey there, Reno! Gosh, I’ve barely seen you! Yeah, how’ve you been?”

Jisung looked between the two couples, confused as to who they were. Minho forced a friendly smile at them and said, “I’ve been all right, off in college, y’know, the works. I’ve been so busy that I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to make it tonight, but I know it’s very important to my dad, so, here I am.”

Jisung chuckled lightly at the blatant lie he just heard. This seemed to finally draw attention to him, as the two couples glanced his way, their faces twisting into confusion as they didn’t recognize him. The white woman asked, “And who’s this?”

“Oh, of course. This is my _boyfriend_ , Peter,” Minho said, gesturing to him and putting a lot of emphasis on the word ‘boyfriend.’ “Peter, this is my uncle, Sangho, and his wife, Soohyun. And that’s my step-aunt, Natalie, and her husband, Tim.”

Jisung nodded slowly. He realized he’d be learning a lot of names over the course of the night, and dreaded that. “Hi, I’m Peter. Sorry, I’m bad with names, so I’ll probably forget that later, but nice to meet you guys.”

The table got quiet, the two couples glancing amongst each other, unsure what to say. Minho scarcely hid an evil little smirk, as their plan was working already. Minho’s uncle quickly changed the subject, asking, “Do you know when your brother’s going to be here?”

“My _step_ -brother? No, I don’t,” Minho replied. “All I know is that he’s coming eventually. With the amount he barked at _me_ to come, he has to.”

As though summoned, a young man who appeared a couple years older than Minho arrived at the table and sat at the Jeremy spot, next to Jisung. He had light brown hair and a five-o’clock shadow, and his face, although handsome, could only be described as ‘annoying.’ He gave an acknowledging nod and said, “Hey there, bro. Glad you decided to come.”

“I’m not your _bro_ ,” Minho rebuked. 

Jeremy held up his hands. “Alright, alright, lower your hackles, tiger. Let’s try not to fight on dad’s special day, huh? By the way, who’s this?”

Jisung wanted to shrink in on himself. The plan was to make Minho’s family uncomfortable, but he should’ve realized sooner that it would make him the center of attention for the whole night. Minho pat him on the shoulder and said, “My boyfriend, Peter. We live together.”

Jeremy got a look on his face that was neither discomfort nor disgust, rather it was indignation. “Really, Reno? You brought your . . . ‘partner’ _here_? You know how dad feels about that, and this is his day. Do you have to steal the spotlight everywhere you go? Did you come _just_ to piss him off?”

As offensive as Jeremy’s words were, he’d hit the nail on the head, and Jisung couldn’t deny that. However, it seemed Minho could. “Oh, I’m sorry. Everyone _else_ here brought along their boyfriends and girlfriends, their husbands and wives. Why can’t I? He’s an important person in my life and I have every right to bring him here. _I_ won’t steal the spotlight so long as _you_ don’t make a big deal of it.”

“You always do this. Everything’s always about you. Can you at least _pretend_ to be a good son? Or does everything have to be a dig at dad? When will you get over yourself?” Jeremy spat. Then, he tacked on, “This is why _I’m_ getting the law firm and not you.”

“Good! Take it, I don’t want it!” Minho bit back. “Now, are you done with your little hissy fit?”

Jisung was caught unfairly in the middle, both literally and figuratively. He leaned back in his chair to remove himself from the situation as much as he could. He understood now why Minho had double-checked if he was _sure_ he wanted to do this—it was certainly a lot of heat to take on, because although their relationship was make-believe, Minho’s family’s feelings about it sure weren’t. 

Before Jeremy could say any more, Minho’s uncle’s wife, Soohyun, piped up to stifle the tension. “So, you two are in college? What are you studying?”

Minho smiled. “Yes, we’re at UCLA. I’m studying dance and performing arts”—at this, Jeremy audibly scoffed—“and Peter is studying broadcasting.”

Soohyun nodded enthusiastically. “That’s great, good for you both. And are you working right now?”

“Yes, actually. Peter’s a salesman at a record shop, and I work three jobs myself,” Minho answered. “I do bartending, construction, and I’m a barista at a coffee place.”

“Three jobs, wow,” Soohyun remarked.

Minho chuckled. “What can I say? I’m a workaholic.”

Jeremy sneered, “You’re a bartender, huh? Let me guess, a _gay_ bar?”

“Why, yes, it is,” responded Minho, easily. “How’d you guess? What tipped you off? Is it the fact that I’m gay? Is that it?”

He was really hammering the point home, and whatever he was trying to do, it was working. Jeremy was growing more infuriated by the second, and while it was kind of funny to watch him get so worked up over something so small, it was also a little scary. Jisung could see that Minho was playing with fire, and he wasn’t certain how he felt about that.

“You see? _This_ is what I’m talking about. You came here just to do _this_ , make a big parade, shove your sexuality in all our faces. It would’ve been better if you hadn’t come at all,” Jeremy seethed.

Minho feined a look of shock. “Oh, I _didn’t_ have to come? Well, golly, what was the point to your incessant texting, then?”

Jeremy opened his mouth to say more, but before he could, the sound of a fork clinking against glass quieted the room. Jisung looked toward the stage to see a tall man standing there holding a champagne glass, his salt-and-pepper hair gelled back, and he wore a fancy black suit-and-tie, with a white shirt and a red pocket square and a Rolex on his wrist. Once he had the attention of the room, he picked up a microphone and spoke into it.

“First of all, I’d just like to say thank-you to everyone for coming,” said the man graciously. “Family, friends, associates of Evans & Lee Law Corp., tonight is a very, very special night. Tonight, I am celebrating ten years of marriage with my lovely wife, and really, this night is all about her. So, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you: Helena Evans-Lee!”

At that moment, a woman emerged from behind the stage, fitted into a beautiful white gown that could pass as a wedding dress, the tulle skirt reaching the floor and trailing slightly behind her as she walked. The dress had no straps, and while she didn’t wear a veil, she had her hair pinned with small white flowers, and had even smaller white flowers woven into her blonde curls. She was gorgeous, her hands tucked together at her waist, sparkles on her eyelids and gloss on her lips, and when she went to stand next to Minho’s dad, Jisung realized quickly that she was significantly younger than him.

“Hold on, _Evans & Lee Law Corp._?” Jisung wondered, leaning to whisper it in Minho’s ear.

“Yeah. After they got married, he made her co-owner of the firm and even renamed it after her. Know what it was called before?” Minho said scornfully. “ _Park_ & Lee Law Corp.”

Jisung nodded slowly, understanding. “I’m guessing Park is your mom’s last name?”

“It is,” Minho muttered.

Jisung was going to stop there, but quickly leaned back into his ear. “One more question, and I hope this isn’t too personal, but isn’t she a bit . . . young?”

Minho laughed sourly. “Oh, yeah. My dad’s sixty, she’s forty-three. It’s a right fuckin’ sitcom, this is.”

“Yeah, Jesus. Now I get why you didn’t want to come.” Jisung hummed. “Wait, if she’s forty-three . . . how old is Jeremy? Isn’t he her son?”

“Yep. He’s twenty-five, she had him when she was eighteen. And get this, Jeremy’s father? He was _another_ rich old dude,” Minho said snarkily. “He died in a car accident some fifteen-or-so years ago. She inherited most of his wealth.”

Jisung’s eyes widened and he whistled inaudibly. “Fuck, this _is_ a sitcom.”

“Can you two stop whispering? It’s impolite,” barked Jeremy.

Minho made a mocking face at him, and they went quiet, watching the stage again. Helena and Minho’s dad—Sean, presumably—stood side-by-side in front of the white thrones, holding glasses of champagne in one hand and microphones in the other. All eyes were on them, and they were drinking up the attention, like a king and queen addressing their kingdom.

“Helena, my darling wife, you are at the center of my life and my being, and you mean everything to me,” Sean announced, eyes pointed lovingly at her. “This banquet is in your honour, for everything you’ve done and continue to do for me, and most of all, for putting up with me for these ten years.”

A smattering of gentle laughter passed through the crowd. Meanwhile, Minho scowled and clenched his fist, visibly disgruntled by his father’s words, and the general sappy distaste of the whole speech. Jisung gently took hold of his hand and gave it a comforting squeeze, and Minho briefly cast him an appreciative glance.

It was Helena’s turn to speak, and she brought the microphone to her lips. “Sean, you’ve given me more than I could ever give back. You’ve brought stability and luxury to my life, and the lives of my two sons. I could not thank you enough for all the love and care you’ve given me. All I can do is continue to love you more and more each day, and I will do that until I’m dead and buried.”

Minho let out a wrathful tsk, beginning to bob his leg up and down as though trying to calm himself. He whispered, through gritted teeth, “I need to leave. I need to leave or else I’m going to flip a table.”

Jisung could do nothing except squeeze Minho’s hand harder, whispering back, “It’ll be over soon. You can do this.”

Sean lifted the microphone to his lips again, announcing, “These are not our renewed vows, those will come later. For now, we dine, and then there will be time to dance. We will end this special night with a short ceremony.”

“I’m not staying for the ‘ceremony.’ Or the vows. I’m not,” Minho swore, his fist still tightly clenched.

“Okay, we can leave before then. We can leave whenever you want to, really,” Jisung promised him.

A quiet round of applause sounded as Sean and Helena left the stage, and they headed down the aisle to their seats, right across from Minho and Jisung. Minho inhaled a deep breath to steel himself as they sat down, hand-in-hand. Caterers in waistcoats and bow-ties poured into the hall and delivered plates covered by silver domes to each place setting, removing the domes to reveal medium-rare steaks with sides of roast potato and greens, then filled up each tall glass with sparkling champagne. Minho took a long sip from his glass, then looked across the table.

“Congratulations, dad. Helena,” Minho said politely, raising his glass to them.

Helena smiled sweetly. “Thank you, dear. We’re really glad you decided to come. You don’t know what that means to us.”

Jeremy grinned wickedly. “He brought his _boyfriend_.”

Sean got a look on his face like he’d just swallowed a stone, and glanced at Jisung. “Oh. Yes, your ‘plus-one.’ What’s your name, son?”

“Peter. Peter Han,” Jisung said, ducking his head formally. “Or Han Jisung, in Korean. I’m Minho’s—”

“ _Roommate_ ,” Minho finished for him, with a wide, proud, closed-mouth smile. “We’ve been living together in an apartment off-campus for the past seven months.”

Helena smiled happily. “That’s great, honey. Isn’t that great, Sean? I hope school’s going okay, is school going okay?”

“School’s going great. Yeah, life’s pretty good right now,” Minho said, and if he was lying it was hard to tell.

Sean still had a grimace on his face like he wasn’t sure what to make of the situation. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Peter. So, you’re dating my son?”

Jisung was still holding Minho’s hand, so he intertwined their fingers and swallowed the lump in his throat. “Er, yes, I am. We’ve been going steady, so he brought me here to meet you guys, and celebrate your special day.”

He looked to Minho for reassurance, hoping he was saying the right things. They hadn’t exactly had time to plan out every word. Minho gave him a small nod as if to say, ‘You’re doing well,’ then turned back to his dad. “But really, this day is about you two, not us. We can save the more formal introductions for a later date.”

Jeremy let out another loud scoff, giving Minho a dirty look. He muttered, “Please, as if you’re not making this about you. You’re so full of shit.”

“Am I? Who’s making an argument out of this, you or me?” Minho shot back.

“Boys, _please_ , can we not do this here?” Helena begged. “I know you two’ve never gotten along, but can we at least pretend to be a happy family, just for today?”

The two couples on either side of them had their heads down, picking at food on their plates. Jeremy looked at Helena and said, “Mom, it’s not _my_ fault he’s been holding a grudge. He never liked me, and what did I do? I’ve tried to be his friend, but he shuts me out every time.”

“Oh, you didn’t do anything, Jeremy. Not at all. Your mom just ruined my parents’ marriage and now you get to sit pretty and live large off _my_ dad’s fortune,” Minho hissed icily. “But of course, I should forgive you both, right?”

Helena interjected, “Boys, please—”

“Your parents’ marriage was _already_ ruined. That’s what you get for having a selfish, faggot prick for a son,” Jeremy jabbed. “And my mom went into this marriage already wealthy, so don’t you go making up stories to fit your ‘hard-knock life’ narrative.”

“Yeah, and whose wealth was that? Oh, right, the wealth of the _last_ old guy she was fucking!” Minho glowered.

Sean slammed both palms down on the table, making the silverware clatter. “Enough, both of you! Can we just have a nice dinner, please? Thank you.”

They went quiet. Minho took his knife and cut a piece out of his steak ferociously, as though he imagined the slab of meat was Jeremy’s face. Jisung took a small bite from his potato, but found it difficult to stomach. Eventually, the older half of the table got into idle conversation about their jobs and other boring adult topics, while the younger half remained stiflingly quiet the entire dinner, Minho and Jeremy exchanging death-glares every few minutes. When plates started emptying, guests began getting up from their seats and gathering in cliques around the room, mingling over glasses of wine and hors d’œuvres. Minho got up from the table and dragged Jisung by the hand along with him, stopping by the table covered in platters of finger-food, like fancy crackers and cheese. 

Minho stuffed a cracker in his mouth and breathed roughly through his nose. Jisung scratched his head and commented, “Well, your step-bro’s a real prick, huh?”

“Tell me about it,” Minho said through his mouthful, lips smacking. “If I had a dime for every time he called me a faggot, I could pay off my student loans _and_ buy myself a car.”

“Damn. You should start collecting those dimes, then. Like a swear-jar-type situation,” Jisung joked, hoping to lighten the mood. It seemed to work, making Minho crack a smile. Jeremy came over from the table and stood with a group of guests to their left, chatting with them while keeping a steady eye trained on them. Jisung murmured, “Is he shadowing us?”

Minho snorted and rolled his eyes. “Probably. Bit obsessive, but that’s just how he is.”

“I’m gonna punch him,” Jisung growled under his breath.

“Not before I do,” Minho swore. Then, he took a step closer, bringing their bodies inches apart. “Since he’s intent on watching, let’s give him a show, hm?”

“That’s what we came to do, after all.” Jisung huffed a nose-laugh. Minho brought both of his hands up to fix the collar of Jisung’s shirt, fingers light and tender, standing close enough that Jisung could feel his breath fanning against his face. 

Minho brought his lips to Jisung’s ear and whispered, “Let’s talk about something, like this, in hushed tones. Can be anything, so long as it looks sexy.”

Jisung giggled and looked up into Minho’s eyes through his lashes. He tilted his head so his lips were very, very close to Minho’s, and mumbled, “How’s this? Sexy enough for ya?”

Minho’s breath was coming out a little rougher, now, and his eyes darkened. His tone was a little strained, and he said huskily, “That’s perfect. I can feel Jeremy’s eyes on the back of my head already. So tell me, like this, how’d you find your steak?”

Jisung had to try not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. He also tried to ignore the pounding in his chest, and the warmth of Minho’s air, the smell of the champagne on his breath. He said, doing his best to not let his voice shake, “A little undercooked for me. We should order some takeout at the hotel later. I’m thinking Mexican. Can we Uber Eats some Taco Bell?”

“You bet your ass we can,” Minho promised, gripping the collar of Jisung’s suit jacket and tugging on it. Then, he reached over to the table and picked up a cracker topped with brie and sliced black olives, bringing it to Jisung’s lips. “Try this. It’s pretty good.”

Jisung was stunned for a second, as he hadn’t been fed by someone else since the days he was too young to feed himself, but nonetheless he opened his mouth and ate the cracker out of Minho’s fingers, savoring the taste. “Mm, it is good. Your dad definitely spared no expense for this banquet.”

“Does he ever?” Minho scoffed. He briefly glanced over at Jeremy, who was poorly pretending not to be looking, maintaining conversation with fellow guests all the while tapping his foot in irritation, his fingers restless around his wine glass, watching the two of them in his peripheral vision. Minho took a step away from Jisung, scanning the room. “I suppose we should stop being antisocial. Shall we take this parade elsewhere?”

Jisung’s heart panicked a little, missing the proximity, his gut bottomlessly yearning for just a little more. Before he could think about it, he tugged Minho back toward him and murmured, “Wait. You wanna _really_ piss Jeremy off?”

“Always. How?” Minho breathed.

“Kiss me,” Jisung blurted out.

Minho’s eyes flashed with something unreadable, and he stalled. “Kiss you?”

Jisung bit his lip, already regretting what he’d said but unwilling to turn back. “It’ll work best if you do it, right?”

Minho licked the corner of his mouth and smirked, glancing around the room. Jeremy was still keeping an eye on them, and across the room, Sean was also looking their way. It was the perfect moment for a display, if there ever was one, and if making mildly homophobic people uncomfortable was their goal, they would have to go big.

“All right,” Minho agreed, turning his head back to look at Jisung. He brought up a hand to his chin, turning it up slightly, and Jisung’s heart started to race even more than before, and he could feel himself sweating through his deodorant. Minho was scanning Jisung’s face with eyes as black as an americano, his gaze lingering on Jisung’s mouth for a little too long, as he stuck out the tip of his tongue and licked his lips absentmindedly. Just when Jisung thought he’d faint from the rush of blood to his head, Minho’s eyes fluttered closed, and they were kissing. 

Minho’s lips were soft, plush, wet, and it was _hot_ , too hot, much too hot, the room like a sauna at the center of the Earth. He took Jisung by the waist and pulled him close, Jisung’s arms wrapping themselves around his shoulders, their lips moving together without parting, and it was like a hit of a strong narcotic, the way it electrified the surface of Jisung’s skin and put his every sense on high alert, setting his insides on fire. It was in that moment that Jisung didn’t even care—about what his friends would think, what his family would think, what his sexuality would think, damn all that to Hell. He could kiss Minho forever.

They parted, Minho looking away swiftly and blinking several times, like he needed to clear his head. It was then Jisung remembered that, out of the two of them, Minho was the one who was _actually_ gay, and Jisung realized for the first time—rather stupidly—that these kisses probably had a much bigger effect on him than Jisung originally thought. Jisung looked at Minho, and Minho looked at Jisung’s lips, and that palpable tension was back tenfold, candy-sweet and fizzy like Pop-Rocks on his tongue, and Jisung could sense that Minho was thinking the same thing he was—that he didn’t want it to end there, that he wanted to kiss him again, and again, and again.

They were interrupted by Jeremy coming to stand beside them, clearing his throat noisily, and the tension between them fizzled out with a pop, like Jeremy was the needle to their balloon. He put his hands on his hips and said, quietly, “Hey, could you maybe save _that_ for the hotel room? There are children present.”

“By that logic, we should probably put a bag over your head. Your face could be frightening for the kids,” Minho said pityingly. 

Jeremy smiled sarcastically and let them be, returning to his clique. Minho took Jisung by the hand again and led him around the room to mingle with various people, friends and family and family friends alike. They eventually got caught up in a long and awkward discussion with some of Sean’s business associates, and spent a stupid amount of time trying to explain their relationship to them, until eventually they gave up and moved on. To Jisung’s surprise, a fair number of the guests they spoke to were actually open and accepting to the idea of their relationship— _fake_ relationship, but they didn’t know that. There were also others who tried far too hard to convince them they _weren’t_ homophobic, expressing their love and admiration for artists and celebrities such as Elton John, Freddie Mercury, and David Bowie. Jisung spent very little time actually talking and a lot more time trying desperately not to laugh. 

By the time the sun had officially disappeared from the sky, the lights in the hall dimmed and music started to play, drawing the guests over to the dance floor. Most stood at the edges and continued to mingle quietly, while many of the younger people flocked to the floor and began grooving together, none of them possessing any superior skill, all of them about equal to white dads at a barbeque. Minho and Jisung stood side-by-side at the edge of the floor, tapping their feet along to the rhythm.

“I say we show them how it’s done,” Minho decided. He took a few steps underneath the coloured strobe lights, his silhouette strikingly accented by the touch of blue that shone around him, and he held out his hand in a princely fashion. “What do you say? May I have this dance?”

Jisung smiled shyly and took his hand. “You may.”

The song was some low-tier, early-2000s pop classic that brought back faint memories of childhood, but they danced to it like the whole world was watching them, like it was the mantra of the last night of their lives. They kept their fingers intertwined the entire dance, spinning in circles around each other and grinding together, moving as one unit, and Jisung felt the rush of the stage, imagining that this must’ve been how Minho felt when he danced at the club, crowds of onlookers with their eyes locked on them, unable to look away. They were one, together, and for that moment, they each belonged to no one else. 

Jisung had to remind himself that this was just for show, that their relationship wasn’t real, and that tomorrow they would go back to being just friends, just roommates. He decided he didn’t want to think about it. He wanted to savor this time he had with Minho like the world would end if they stopped dancing. He watched intently the way the lights hit Minho’s face, accentuating his jawline and high cheekbones, shining in his pretty eyes and reflecting off the leftover saliva on his lips and the sheen of sweat on his forehead. He was an unstoppable force and an immovable object all at once, angelically beautiful and demonically dangerous, an island within an island that Jisung couldn’t piece together, and frankly, he didn’t want to. It was the mystery, the simple beauty of not knowing, that made him so alluring, and Jisung wanted to get drunk off it until he could no longer stand. His mind was wading through uncharted waters and this time, he didn’t stop it, he let his thoughts flow and his imagination run wild, fantasies of what could be. 

In that moment, the DJ switched up the pace, and a slow song came on. Minho wasted no time pulling Jisung close and taking him by the waist, swaying him side-to-side. Jisung wrapped his arms around Minho’s shoulders, and when their eyes met, he didn’t look away. He couldn’t. He knew it, he’d always known it, but Minho really was beautiful. He had a tender look in his gaze, eyes soft and wide, looking at Jisung like he was the only thing in the entire world to him, and Jisung felt the hardest squeeze to his heart that he’d ever felt in his life. No one had ever looked at him like that. And he knew it was an act, it wasn’t real, it was nothing more than a display for whoever happened to be watching, and knowing that hurt more than the clench in his chest. So he decided not to think about it.

About midway through the song, Minho pulled him in even closer, until they were chest-to-chest, and he rested his head on Jisung’s shoulder as they rocked slowly back-and-forth. Jisung tucked his face into the crook of Minho’s neck, and he felt warm. He wanted to remain in that warmth for the rest of his life, be held like this forever, and at that second he’d hit the ground before he even noticed he was falling. He could almost hear himself land, his body smacking against concrete and his bones crunching, it hit him so hard and so fast, like a needle piercing his heart that beat in tune to another’s. He was still reluctant to admit it to himself, that there was more than a yearning for friendship in the way he felt about Minho. So he decided not to think about it.

Sean was watching them from the sidelines, his brow furrowed and hand holding tightly to his wine glass. After the song ended, the floor was cleared to give space to the husband-and-wife dance, where Sean and Helena had the whole floor to themselves, dancing slowly to some song that held meaning to them. Each time they spun around, and Sean laid his eyes on Minho, something flashed in them, something that was either disappointment or pure anger. Jisung felt Minho’s hand tighten in his own, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Dad’s mad at you,” said Jeremy, who’d suddenly materialized beside them.

“You think?” Minho muttered sarcastically.

“He’s got someone to introduce you to, y’know,” Jeremy went on. “You better do as he wants, or else. Choose your words wisely.”

Minho leaned into Jisung’s ear and whispered, “Told ya.”

The husband-and-wife dance ended, and the pair bowed to one another, and then to the audience. Sean disappeared into the crowd, leaving Helena to chat with friends, reappearing later with a young girl roughly Minho’s age in tow.

As they got closer, Jisung asked, “Is he really going to try this? With me _right here_?”

“Apparently so,” Minho mumbled, unamused.

Sean arrived in front of them with a big smile, presenting the girl to Minho. “Son, there’s someone I’d like you to meet. This is Claire, she’s the daughter of one of my business partners. I think you two could get along nicely.”

Minho already had an expression like he would _not_ be entertaining this charade for even a second. He turned to Claire and smiled emptily. “Listen, I’m sure my dad’s told you all about me, how I’m charming and nice and I’d be a great husband and father to your child or _what_ ever, and I really wish he hadn’t. I wish he hadn’t pulled you into this and I wish he hadn’t put us both in this incredibly awkward position. I’m going to spare you the effort and just tell you now: I’m gay. I like men, and I’m actually in a committed relationship right now with a man. This one, right here. His name’s Peter. So, it was a pleasure meeting you, and maybe we could be friends, but no, I’m not attracted to you, and I will not date you. Sorry.”

Jisung saw the look on Sean’s face, and it was so piercing he had to look away. His gaze dropped to his feet and he inhaled deeply. This was not going to be fun.

Sean exhaled slowly and touched a hand to the girl’s shoulder. “Claire, I deeply apologize. Could you excuse us for a moment? Lee Minho, come with me.”

He full-named him. That was _not_ a good sign. Getting full-named by a parent always meant there was a big storm coming. Jisung could see it, feel it, brewing, growing in size and darkness. He did not want to leave Minho’s side, leave him to face the storm alone. So he followed behind Sean, who had a hand tightly gripping Minho by the shoulder, leading him out to the banquet hall corridor, away from the prying eyes of guests. Sean stopped Minho by a wall, and Jisung hung back a few paces, his hands held stiffly at his sides and balled into fists, breaths coming out raggedly, fearfully.

Sean looked at Jisung, eyes like chips of ice. “I’m sorry, but could you leave us? I need to speak with my son _alone_.”

Before Jisung could move or say anything, Minho interjected, “No. Whatever you have to say to me, you can say in front of him.”

“Fine,” Sean agreed reluctantly, with a huff. “Son, I’m asking you again. I’m pleading with you. Stop this. I know you want to get back at me, because I’ve hurt you in your life, but this has gone too far, now. I have high-class business partners asking me about you, asking if my son’s a fairy. How am I supposed to look them in the eyes? How can I have any dignity, when you’re like this?”

Those words hurt Jisung, and they weren’t even directed at him. Minho inhaled shudderingly, tucking his hands in his pockets and looking off to the side. “Dad, for the millionth time, this isn’t about you. This is my life, my love, my orientation. I didn’t choose it, and I can’t change it for you, or anyone. It’s the way I am.”

“No. Tell me, honestly, son. Was it something I did? Did I not raise you right? What have I, or your mother, or your step-mother, done to make you this way?” Sean persisted. “I’ve tried everything for you to just be normal. To give you a good life. I’ve made mistakes, I know, but is this my repayment? Ridicule?”

Minho laughed once, sharply. “If you’re being _ridiculed_ for having a gay son, get better friends. For fuck’s sake, dad. This is me, this is who I am, this is who I’ve always been. It won’t change. It can’t, even if I wanted it to. I’m still your son, just love me as I am. Why can’t you? Is it so hard?”

Sean looked at him pitifully. “I want to, son. I really do. But I worry for you. How can you be happy? How can you live a fulfilling, successful life, like this? With this . . . _boy_? Am I supposed to leave you to him? In his hands? How can I do that?”

“Because I love him,” Minho said earnestly, seriously enough that even Jisung believed him for a split second. He had to remind himself once again that this was make-believe, it wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

Sean let out a long, hefty sigh. He was still angry, and growing angrier by the minute. “Just . . . go. Leave. I can’t have you here, you’re embarrassing me in front of my colleagues. We’ll talk about this later.”

“No, we won’t,” Minho said hoarsely, “and don’t worry, I was leaving anyway. Jisung, let’s go.”

On unsteady feet, Jisung followed him, down the long hallway and out the door, leaving Sean behind. Minho didn’t say a word the entire car ride to the hotel, eyes narrow and trained stubbornly to the road, lips tightening and loosening, hands clenching and unclenching the steering wheel. The car came to a stop in the parking lot of the hotel, and they checked into their room, Minho’s voice scarily tight when he spoke to the person at the front desk. They were staying on the third floor, in room 316, and when they got in, Minho stopped a few steps inside, the strap of his bag slipping from his hand, leaving it to land heavily on the floor. He stood there, eerily still, while the door closed behind them. Jisung leaned to try and get a look at Minho’s face, and as he did, he saw his shoulders begin to shake, and heard a soft, nearly-inaudible sob escape from him.

“Hey. Hey, c’mere,” Jisung murmured, dropping his bag and standing in front of Minho, pulling him into a tight hug. He fell into Jisung’s arms, clinging to him desperately, his chest heaving and trembling, and he cried softly into Jisung’s shoulder. Jisung let him do so, willing to hold him for as long as he needed, rubbing his back comfortingly. “It’s okay. Let it out. I’m here.”

Minho wept, tears wetting the fabric of Jisung’s jacket, fingernails digging into the skin of his back. He blubbered, “Why does he hate me? Why can’t he just be proud of me? Why am I nothing but a disappointment? Why can’t I make him happy?”

“No. No. Minho, listen to me,” Jisung whispered, curling his fingers into Minho’s hair, clutching him dearly. “He doesn’t hate you. You’re still his son. You can’t be anyone except who you are and you shouldn’t be. I love who you are. You’re enough. It’s his problem if he can’t see that.”

Minho pulled out of the embrace and nodded, sniffling, wiping his tears away with his sleeves. “Okay. Thank you. I won’t cry anymore. It’s not worth it.”

Jisung bent down to catch Minho’s gaze. He brought up both hands to rub his wet cheeks with his thumbs, then squeezed them gently. “You’re good. You hear me? You’re enough.”

Minho swat his hands away, giggling lightly. “Stop it, I could kiss you.”

He knew it was a joke. He knew that. Just a figure of speech, that anyone would say. Even so, he wanted that. He wanted to tell Minho to do it, to kiss him. Kiss him, and not stop until they both collapsed from sheer exhaustion. But the words caught in his throat. He could only smile, and give a chuckle, collect his bag off the floor and take it to the bed by the window. Minho did the same, flopping onto his back on his own bed, closing his eyes tiredly and sighing.

“Don’t sleep in your nice suit,” Jisung mumbled. “C’mon, get changed.”

He did. They both did, backs turned from each other as they got into their PJs, and as soon as Minho got into the bed with the covers over him, he was asleep, all the energy drained from him. Jisung sat at the edge of his own bed, watching. Minho looked soft, peaceful, and dare he say it, cute—tucked up to his chin in the down throws, snuggling into his pillow and making gentle, sleepy noises. It was endearing. Jisung wished to climb under the covers next to him, cuddle him close, hold onto him like he had before, sleep on his chest like he had before. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. He felt his heart beat, his mind filling with a cloud of confusion he’d never before experienced. His chest tightened again, this time for a different reason. There were a million thoughts, a million questions, in his head, and he didn’t have the diligence to sort through them all. There was just one, at the forefront of his mind, that tugged at him, one he needed desperately to let out.

It was his turn to have a private phone call in the bathroom. He sat down on the toilet seat, landing with a thump, losing the strength in his legs. He dialed Hyunjin’s number, and let it ring. It rang, and rang, and rang, until it finally went to voicemail, the recording telling him to leave a message after the tone. It beeped, and he was silent, for a little too long. The words rested on his tongue. He didn’t know how to say them. They felt too foreign, too heavy, too forbidden. Saying them aloud would make them _real_ , would confirm their existence, something he wasn’t sure he was ready to do.

Finally, he did. He blurted out, “Hyunjin. I think I like him.”

Then he hung up.


	7. Blinding Lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> I really pushed myself to write this one so quick, haha. It's the longest chapter yet - 38 pages, 11,437 words, holy shit!! Not to mention, italicizing this chapter was an absolute nightmare. I only hope it turned out well and that you all enjoy it. I've had a lot of fun writing this story and reading your comments, so please leave more! 
> 
> This humble story has nearly reached 2,000 hits, that's INSANE! Thank you all so much for your support, it means so much to me. 
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> I've also really enjoyed interacting with some of you on Twitter! If you haven't followed me yet, I would recommend doing so (@/reineard) and turning on my post notifications. I post announcements on new chapters, as well as sneak peeks and other fun stuff! You will also find a link to the Molasses in the Sky Spotify playlist in my pinned thread. I add new songs to the playlist before chapters are released, so by staying up-to-date, you can get mini-spoilers to a chapter's contents!
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> Thank you all again for your continued support. I love you all <3
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> This chapter is named after the song "Blinding Lights" by The Weeknd!
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> Happy reading~

_Sin city’s cold and empty,_   
_No-one’s around to judge me._

Jisung awoke to dull aches, aches of a body that longed for more sleep and a mind that wouldn’t allow it. The night before, he’d laid with his eyes closed for hours, suffering idle restlessness, and he wasn’t sure when he’d finally gotten to sleep but it couldn’t have been more than a couple hours ago. He kept his head pressed into his pillow, hands clasped together beneath it, staring directly in front of him where Minho was still asleep in exactly the same position as he was last night. There was a roughly three-foot space between their beds, between them, but from that angle it almost looked as though Minho was right next to him, as though they’d slept together. Jisung groaned quietly and turned away, rolling over and hoping to fall asleep again, so he could escape the places his mind went and the fantasies it brought to him.

He couldn’t sleep. He tried, and tried, but it refused to come. He rolled over again, onto his back, and stared up at the ceiling. He was afraid to check his phone. He put a hand to his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut as he remembered the voicemail he’d sent to Hyunjin, what he’d said, what he’d admitted, both to himself and to the one person who would make sure never to let him forget it. It took all the bravery he had in him—and a fair amount of unyielding curiosity—to reach an arm over to the bedside table and grasp his phone, bringing it above his face to look at it.

Seventeen missed calls and one voicemail from Hyunjin. To be expected. He could easily imagine what Hyunjin must’ve looked like when he listened to Jisung’s words, probably jumping from his seat and hopping around, then collapsing in a fit of triumphant giggles. What Jisung regretted most was giving him the satisfaction of being right all along. Hyunjin was already enough of a persistent and intolerable nuisance, and with this, he would never accept the answer ‘No’ again.

Jisung gave an exhale of courage and checked his voicemail, putting his phone to his ear. All Hyunjin had to say was, “Ya think?”

Jisung clicked his tongue in annoyance. Somehow, the short response was worse. With just two words, Hyunjin was already rubbing it in his face. He muttered a string of curses under his breath as he sent Hyunjin a single text.

10월 6일, 8:46 오전  
커피? (Coffee?)

He got out of his bed and quickly dressed himself in track pants and a hoodie, pulling a beanie over his hair and Converse on his feet, leaving them unlaced. He then approached Minho’s bed, kneeling in front of him to look at his face, feeling his heart do flips out of fear, that once Minho was awake he’d have to talk to him, be with him, and act normal in front of him. While he slept, it was Jisung’s last moment of respite. He admired Minho’s sleeping face, his eyelashes fanned out over his cheeks, the peace that rested in his features, the way his breaths came slowly in and out through his nose. Jisung lifted a hand and gently moved a strand of hair off his forehead, smiling a little to himself. He looked at Minho’s cheek, at the soft skin, and he wanted to plant a kiss there, then on his eyelid, then on his nose, then on his forehead, and all over until he woke up. He didn’t do that. Instead he sighed and looked at the floor. He’d fallen quite a ways off the deep end, hadn’t he?

Rather than kiss him awake like he wanted to, Jisung grabbed his nose and pinched it closed, then waited. Unable to breathe, Minho jerked instinctively, pulling his face away, and Jisung let him go. Stirred, Minho rolled onto his back and smacked his mouth, then opened his eyes. Jisung put a playful grin on his face and stood up, poking Minho’s cheek to fully wake him. Minho closed one eye and made a small, cute little noise, swatting Jisung away.

“Mornin’, time to get up,” Jisung said. “We have to be checked out by ten, right?”

Minho sat up, straight-backed, like a mummy rising from its sarcophagus, and dropped his chin to his chest. He rubbed his own head, fluffing up his hair, and made another cute, disapproving noise. “I don’t _wanna_. Too sleepy. Can’t drive for two hours.”

Jisung wanted to explode and collapse in on himself all at once. He’d made the decision that sleepy Minho was his favourite Minho. His quiet, raspy voice, the little noises he made, his bedhead, the toddler way in which he balled his hands into fists and complained, the pout on his lips. All of it made Jisung’s heart grow three sizes and then shrivel like the Grinch. It was too much. 

Jisung hummed and tugged on Minho’s shirt sleeve. “Too bad so sad. We have to go, so get dressed. How about I drive?”

Minho threw his fists in the air and did that little, squarish smile. “Yay!”

Jisung turned away to hide the expression on his face. Minho was _cute_. He was so, so, so, _so_ cute, and Jisung felt like lying down on the floor and accepting death right then and there. Instead of dying, he picked up Minho’s bag and passed it to him, avoiding looking directly at him, like he was a solar eclipse. While Minho got dressed—staying in his bed to do so—Jisung checked his phone, seeing there were two texts from Hyunjin.

10월 6일, 8:57 오전  
물론! (Absolutely!)  
우린 할 얘기가 많아 ㅎㅎ (We have lots to talk about haha)

Jisung pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew he couldn’t avoid Hyunjin forever—he knows where he lives, so he _has_ to talk to him eventually, and sooner was better than later. Still, he dreaded it. He typed out a response with reluctant fingers.

10월 6일, 9:12 오전  
지금 로스 앤젤레스로가는 중있어요 (I’m on my way to Los Angeles now)  
제가 현진을 데리러 갈게요 (I’ll pick you up)

Minho was fumbling around under the covers to put his jeans on, and once they were securely around his legs, he got up to pull them on the rest of the way, doing up the button and fly and buckling his belt. He wore a grey t-shirt with a picture of two men hugging on it and the word ‘GINGER’ written in red letters below them, and the words ‘Take the odds, I’ll keep dreaming’ written in italics below that. Jisung recognized the graphic quickly as the cover of Brockhampton’s most recent album, _Ginger_ , and he gasped audibly as Minho pulled a hoodie on over the shirt. Minho looked over at him, confused.

“I didn’t know you liked Brockhampton,” Jisung said, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “I love Brockhampton!”

Minho gave a small smile and shrugged. “I know you do. Their posters are all over your room.”

“Why didn’t you say something?” Jisung asked, a little deflated.

Minho shrugged again. “Dunno. But hey, now I have.”

Minho zipped up his bag and crossed the room, pulling on a pair of Nike runners. He didn’t seem to care at all about the state of his hair, he just pulled up his hood so it laid halfway over his head, leaving his bangs to stick up all around it. Jisung pulled the strap of his bag over his shoulder and checked his phone to see one final text from Hyunjin. 

10월 6일, 9:15 오전  
내 차에서 ㅎㅎㅎ (In my car hahaha)

After one last glance around the hotel to make sure they had everything, they left the room together and checked out at the front desk. They made their way to where they’d parked Hyunjin’s car, and their steps slowed in unison as they saw Jeremy standing by the car next to it, a sleek black BMW that looked brand-new. He had a shit-eating grin on his face, and he wore a navy-blue Tommy Hilfiger sweater over a white Polo, with a black blazer on top. Jisung’s mouth immediately tasted like bile at the sight of him. 

“Hey, there, little bro,” Jeremy said as they approached. “I heard what happened last night. Dad kicked you out. Such a shame, but I can’t say you didn’t have it coming. Are you proud of yourself?”

Minho didn’t say anything, didn’t even look at Jeremy, no fight left in him. He simply pushed past him and climbed into the passenger’s seat. Jeremy chuckled, leaning his elbows on the roof of the car and looking across at Jisung.

“Hey, you. Peter, was it?” Jeremy asked, rhetorically. “How long have you been dating my brother? A year? More?”

Jisung scowled at him, unmasking his dislike. “Nunya.”

Jeremy made an expression like he expected that answer, nodding. “Okay. Well. I just hope you know that, even if he acts like it, he doesn’t love you. He can’t. He’s incapable of it. He’s always been a cold, emotionless bitch and he always will be. He’ll never be anything else. So keep that in mind when you’re deciding whether or not to stay with him.”

Jisung held the driver’s side door open, hand clenching tightly around it, closing his eyes to steel his anger. It didn’t work. He stopped trying and made his way around the front of the car, over to Jeremy, stalking up to him in long strides. Jeremy backed away with his hands up, still holding his pompous expression, annoyingly unafraid.

“Sorry, gay boy, did I strike a nerve?” Jeremy laughed. “I was only speaking the truth—”

If he was planning on saying more, he never got to, because Jisung took him by the shoulder, drew back a fist, and socked him hard in the stomach, knocking the breath from him and making him double over. While he stayed in that position with a hand over his gut, Jisung pat him on the back and leaned into his ear, growling, “ _Never_ speak about my boyfriend that way again. There’s more where that came from.”

He left him there, returning to the driver’s side and climbing in, slamming the door shut. Minho’s eyes were wide and pointed, shocked, at him, his mouth hanging open a little bit. 

Jisung smirked, both embarrassed and a little proud, flexing his hand. “Sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

“I said _I_ wanted to punch him first,” Minho complained, smiling.

Jisung gave a short laugh. “Ah, well, you’ll get the next one. Make sure you hit him in the face.”

“Will do,” Minho agreed. Then, he dropped his volume and murmured, nearly-inaudibly, “That was kinda hot.”

Jisung’s hands stalled on the steering wheel as he took in what Minho said. Did he just call Jisung . . . hot? No, no, he’d called his _actions_ hot. There’s a difference. Still, it got his heart thrumming, made him feel something ticklish in the pit of his stomach and his throat close up so he couldn’t respond. He did a mouth-shrug and got the car started. 

Minho, with shyness in his body, took out his phone and connected it to the AUX chord, playing some Brockhampton. They looked at each other and smiled, both recognizing the song. They spent the two-hour ride laughing, grooving, and singing together, stopping once at Taco Bell to get the food they didn’t end up getting last night. The drive was fun and effortless, free of the weight Jisung was worried he’d feel now that he’d realized his crush on the man sitting beside him. 

When they pulled up outside their apartment, Minho got out and took his bag with him, starting toward the building. When he noticed Jisung was not following, he turned back and bent down in front of the window. Jisung rolled it down so he could talk.

“Not coming in?” he asked.

“I’m picking up Hyunjin, we’re hanging out,” Jisung said. “Also gives me the chance to hand his car back.”

“Unfortunately,” Minho chortled. “All right, see you later then. Want me to take your bag?”

Jisung nodded and leaned over to grab it from the back seat, hauling it up and pushing it into Minho’s hands. “Sure, thanks.”

Minho took it and smiled gently. “And . . . thank you, for everything yesterday. Seriously. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Jisung looked away bashfully. “Nah, it was no problem. Really.”

“Thank you,” Minho said again. They looked at each other, and for a split second, Minho’s eyes drifted downwards, gaze pointed at Jisung’s lips. He looked up quickly and stood straight, bobbing his head. “Well, see ya.”

“Yeah, see ya,” Jisung mumbled, throat a little tight. He rolled the window up and looked forward, hands gripping the steering wheel. Next was Hyunjin. There was no delaying it, so he took a breath of courage and got on his way. When he’d stopped in front of Hyunjin’s apartment, he sent him a text.

10월 6일, 11:25 오전  
제가 왔어용 (I’m here)  
나와나와 (Come out come out)

He waited in the car, taking a moment to connect his own phone to the AUX so he could play something Hyunjin would hate listening to. Just then, another text came through.

10월 6일, 11:27 오전  
아니, 넌 나와~~ (No, you come out~~)

Jisung chuckled sourly at his dumb joke, but before he could respond, Hyunjin came running from his apartment building like a gazelle hyped on caffeine, skipping around the car and knocking on the roof. He dove into the passenger’s seat so quickly he almost fell face-first into Jisung’s lap, then straightened and slammed the door.

Jisung stared at him, irritation written all over his face. “Are you high?”

“No,” Hyunjin answered quickly. “Now go, drive! Nearest Starbucks, _stat_! Daddy needs his latte!”

Jisung rolled his eyes. “You’re noisy. Are you sure you haven’t had one yet?”

“Positive. Now gooo~!” Hyunjin ordered. Jisung waved a hand at him and got back on the road, driving to the Starbucks on Weyburn Avenue, the one closest to campus. He found a parking spot and put money in the meter, then followed after the bouncing and bubbling Hyunjin into the café.

He ordered an iced americano while Hyunjin got an iced vanilla latte, Hyunjin excitedly paying for both their drinks. As soon as they got them, Jisung was yanked by the elbow to sit at the table closest to them.

Hyunjin was leaning so far forward in his chair he was practically melded into the table. “Okay, spill. Every detail, _now_. What happened yesterday? What did you do? Did you kiss him? Profess your undying love for him? Did you fuck him into the mattress until morning light? I need to know. _Everything_.”

“Shut up, you’re annoying. I never should’ve told you anything,” Jisung grumbled, taking a long gulp of his coffee.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry,” Hyunjin mumbled, calming himself down. “Seriously, though, I’m dying here. What happened?”

Jisung took a deep breath. “Well, we were in Escondido yesterday for his dad and step-mom’s anniversary. I went with him as his fake-boyfriend to piss off his homophobic family. It was just an act, y’know? I guess I . . . got a little too used to it.”

“You two have done the fake-boyfriend thing kind of a lot,” Hyunjin recognized. “Seems to me like you faked it till you maked it, hm? Played pretend so much that you turned pretend-feelings real?”

As always, Hyunjin was more correct than Jisung cared to admit. He looked at his hands on the tabletop and shrugged. “I guess. I don’t know about Minho, I doubt he feels the same. I just . . . I don’t know. He’s cute, I guess. My heart does _stuff_ when he’s around and I’m not sure if I’m okay with that.”

“Dang, Jisungie. You’ve got it _bad_ , don’tcha?” Hyunjin teased. “This is strange for you. I mean, you haven’t had a proper crush in years. Not since Kang Namhee in, what, eighth grade? Remember her?”

Jisung scoffed. “Of course I do. She was my first girlfriend. We dated for like, three weeks. Then she cheated on me with that guy Na Taeyoon. Broke my heart for the first time, how could I forget?”

“You liked her a _lot_ , too,” Hyunjin said. “You dated others after her, but you never fell for anyone else quite as hard as you did for her. Well, until now.”

“Slow down, I’m still not sure how I feel, exactly.” Jisung stopped him.

Hyunjin threw his hands up exasperatedly. “ _What_ aren’t you sure about?”

“Well, there’s a ton of things to consider,” Jisung rambled. “I mean, I’ve never been even remotely attracted to a guy before, so why now? Why Minho? Maybe I’m just caught up in the rush, that’s all. Y’know, so excited about this new friendship that I’m just confused?”

Hyunjin made an unconvinced noise. “You know what they say about college, my friend. If there’s ever a time to have your gay awakening, it’s now.”

Jisung shook his head. “No, that’s where you’re wrong. Sure, plenty of people _experiment_ in college, but ‘gay awakening’ is a whole other deal—”

Hyunjin interrupted him. “I just wanna know when it’s gonna be _my_ turn. Where’s _my_ Prince Charming? Where’s that smexy man who’s supposed to come into my life and make me forget how good pussy is? I’m feeling left out.”

“Your time will come, don’t worry,” Jisung muttered sarcastically. “ _Any_ way, as I was saying, I wouldn’t call this my ‘gay awakening.’ I think I’m still straight. Like I said, I could just be confused.”

“Mm, doubt it,” Hyunjin said. “Let’s see. You’ve kissed him once, so—”

“Three times,” Jisung interjected.

Hyunjin’s eyes widened and he leaned even farther forward. “ _Three_? What? When? Why did I not know about this?”

“For good reason.” Jisung huffed. “He kissed me that one time at the frat party, like I told you about. Then I kissed him once when we ran into Jamie again a little while ago. Then yesterday, we kissed to annoy his family. It was always for show, to make someone jealous or uncomfortable, never out of passion or anything.”

“Well, then. Three times is still a lot, even if it was ‘just for show,’” Hyunjin said. “What I was going to say was, how did you feel about the kiss? I know at the beach you said you liked it, but I want more than that.”

“I felt . . . I felt . . .” Jisung stammered. He didn’t know how to put it. How could he describe it to Hyunjin? The heat, the hammering in his chest, the buzzing in his mind, the way Minho’s kiss had the ability to take him to outer space and beyond? How could he put into words the way Minho’s lips felt against his own, the way Minho’s hands felt on his body, the way Minho’s eyes looked into his own and made him feel so big and so small all at once? He sighed, and simply said, “I felt like I wanted to kiss him more. Again.”

Hyunjin nodded sagely, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting back in his chair. “Doesn’t sound too ‘confused’ to me. Sounds like you just like him, a lot. But, I smell a problem. Your ‘cardinal rule.’ What’s this gonna mean for your ‘unattached college boy’ routine?”

“Fuck. I didn’t even think about that,” Jisung groaned, dropping his face into his hands. His whole plan for college was to remain completely disconnected, not to fall in love, avoid the heartbreak of losing that love come graduation. He’d modeled his sex life after that one cardinal rule. If he really did have a crush on Minho, it would dismantle all of that, shatter his plans and make all his hard work meaningless. 

Hyunjin looked at him softly. “Don’t fret, Jisungie. I’ve been telling you that this ‘rule’ of yours was silly anyway and wouldn’t last long. There’s nothing wrong with a little college romance, even if it doesn’t last. And who knows, right? It might last after all. You can’t box yourself in. If you like Minho, you like him. You can’t stop it.”

Jisung shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t even think Minho feels the same. I mean, what am I supposed to do, now? Ignore my feelings for him? Hope they go away?”

“They won’t. You _live_ with the guy,” Hyunjin said flatly. “ _I_ think you should tell him. I have a sinking suspicion he likes you more than you think. That’s just a hunch, though. He hasn’t said anything to me.”

“I’m not _telling_ him. No way,” Jisung refused, his bottom lip jutting out. “This is it, this is the end. I have to move out.”

Hyunjin sighed noisily. “You’re being dramatic. And that says a lot, coming from me. What if I talked to him for you?”

“Nope. No. _Absolutely_ not. You can’t tell him anything I’ve said to you just now, this stays between us,” Jisung warned.

Hyunjin made a stupid face. “Do you think I’m a dumbass? I’m not going to _tell_ him anything. I can just, y’know, poke at him, see if I can get him to admit any secrets.”

Jisung narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Meh, I don’t trust you. I mean, you can try to egg him on, I guess. Just don’t be too obvious. He probably won’t say anything to you anyway, everyone knows you’re a blabbermouth.”

“Indeed I am,” Hyunjin said proudly. “If he does say anything, I’ll be sure to tell you. But, what if he _does_ like you back? What then?”

That was certainly one Hell of a question, a question Jisung himself hadn’t dared to ponder over. If Minho liked him back . . . _what then_? He didn’t think he would have the gall to do anything about it. That was, surprisingly, the strangest thing about all this. Jisung had always been a smooth-talker, a player, able to pick up any person he fancied with ease. When it came to Minho, however, he became a mess of cold sweats and stuttering, his heartbeat too loud to hear his own thoughts. It was so unlike him that he didn’t know who he was anymore.

“I don’t know ‘what then.’ I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it,” Jisung said. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore, either. I feel like my head’s going to implode. I need a minute to sort through all this.”

Hyunjin nodded understandingly. “I get it. This is very new. Mull it over, take your time with it. Talk to others, too, like Chan or Felix. They’re better at giving advice than I am.”

“That they are,” Jisung agreed, with a cheeky smirk. Truthfully, Hyunjin wasn’t so bad at giving advice. Behind all his teasing and sarcasm, he was really a caring friend. Sure, the two of them seldom ever had a serious conversation, and oftentimes seemed more like enemies, fighting like an old married couple, but there was a reason Jisung would call Hyunjin his ‘best friend.’ 

They stayed at Starbucks for a while longer, discussing lighter topics, like the TV show Hyunjin had recently become obsessed with and Jisung’s newfound appreciation for different music genres such as blues and jazz. After, Hyunjin drove Jisung home, and they bid each other farewell. 

Minho was there when Jisung got in, and he stayed for a few hours but they didn’t talk much, as Minho was wrapped up with school assignments, his headphones over his ears and the volume on blast. By nightfall, Minho left for his shift at the club, which he assured was _just_ bartending this time, no dancing. Jisung stayed on the couch for most of the night watching clips of talk shows on YouTube, trying to understand what it was Minho liked so much about them. Eventually, his lack of sleep caught up with him, and he ended up falling asleep where he sat with the remote clutched in his hand. 

He awoke hours later when Minho returned home, the lock clicking and the door creaking open, Minho throwing his shoes off in the foyer and sitting on the couch, his arms splayed out and his head leaned back. Jisung blinked tiredly and glanced around, delirious from his unintended nap, then rubbed his face with an open palm.

“You watchin’ _The View_?” Minho commented, head still tossed back and eyes closed. “Anything interesting?”

“Dunno. I was asleep. I don’t even know when this came on,” Jisung lied. He didn’t want Minho to know he’d been watching it intentionally, after the amount he’d teased him about it. “How was work?”

Minho still didn’t move, just made an inward musing noise. “Tiring. You’d think the club would be quiet on a Tuesday, but alas, no. You just cannot stop the gays from partying every night of the goddamn week.”

“Welcome to Los Angeles,” Jisung said, chuckling. “How many drinks do you think you made tonight?”

Minho blew air out through his lips, making them flap noisily. “Eh, somewhere between five thousand and five million. I have no idea. It felt like the shaker didn’t leave my hand once the entire time I was there.”

Jisung laughed and turned off the TV. His nap had not rejuvenated him, and he still felt tired, so he elected to go to bed. As he got up, Minho asked, “Have you eaten dinner yet? I was gonna order something. I’m thinkin’ Greek.”

Jisung sat back down, his stomach rumbling. He had not eaten, and hungry trumps tired. “No, I haven’t. Greek sounds nice.”

Minho, head still back and eyes still closed, shot him a thumbs-up. “Coolness. I’ll order in a second. Just gonna sit here for a bit longer.”

Jisung smiled at him. Minho was, quite literally, not doing anything, but somehow he was cute again. He was wearing a white button-up and black suit pants, probably the furthest thing from comfortable clothes, yet he looked cozy, and Jisung wanted to snuggle up to him and tuck his head into his neck, hug him close, and cuddle him until they both fell asleep. He didn’t do that. He instead laid back in his own spot and mimicked Minho’s position, head back and eyes pointed to the ceiling.

It was then that Minho sprang up suddenly and slapped his thigh, making Jisung loll his head to the side to look at him, eyebrow raised. Minho said, “Right, I wanted to ask you something. Are you, Chan, and Changbin free Friday night?”

“I am, I dunno about them,” Jisung replied. “Why?”

Minho ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “Well . . . See, on Friday the club was gonna have this ‘live music night,’ we advertised it and everything. But, the performers we booked cancelled last-minute, the pricks. So, now, we’re in kind of a tight spot. We’re scrambling to find some local musicians who can come and do a set on short notice. I was wondering . . . Does 3RACHA do live shows?”

“We hardly ever get booked for any, but uh, yeah, I guess we do,” Jisung said slowly. “Are you . . . inviting us to a gig?”

Minho chuckled nervously. “Well, I haven’t brought it up with my managers yet, but . . . yeah. If you guys are willing to do it, I’m sure they’ll jump at the idea. I mean, we don’t have a lot of options.”

Jisung beamed. “I’ll run it by Chan and Changbin, but I think it should work. I hope so, I’m excited now!”

“Good,” Minho grinned. “Okay, I’ll order food now. Make sure you talk to them soon, I need an answer, like, yesterday.”

Jisung nodded enthusiastically. While Minho went into the kitchen to grab a Greek restaurant pamphlet off the fridge, Jisung quickly typed out a few texts to Chan.

10월 7일, 12:24 오전  
찬니형과 얘기해야 해요 (I need to talk to you)  
내일 시간있어요? (Are you free tomorrow?)  
창빈형도 말해줘 (Tell Changbin, too)

He didn’t expect an answer right away considering the time, but when his phone buzzed immediately and he looked, shocked, to see Chan had responded already, he was quickly reminded that Chan was an insomniac and rarely went to sleep before 3 A.M. 

10월 7일, 12:25 오전  
ㅇㅋ 👍 (O.K. 👍)  
내일 언제든 오세요 (Come over anytime tomorrow)

When their take-out came, they ate it on the couch, surrounded by Minho’s three cats that became significantly more cuddly in the presence of food. Minho chewed on his chicken skewer, leaning as far as he could to keep it away from Dori, who pawed at him and meowed in his face. Jisung had to hold his take-out high above his head to keep it out of the reach of Soonie and Doongie, who were both giving him round-pupiled begging eyes. Eventually, Minho’d had enough, so he lured the three furry babies into his bedroom with a piece of chicken and shut the door on them.

“There. Now we can eat in peace,” Minho said, and Jisung laughed through his mouthful.

Peace, however, was never an option. They were forced to eat to the lovely chorus of all three cats meowing and clawing at Minho’s bedroom door. Minho switched the TV back on and put on a playlist of music videos, turning the volume up to drown out the loud feline whines. They finished their food and watched throwback Vine compilations until Minho fell asleep, at which point Jisung put a blanket over him and went to let the cats out before retreating to his own bed.

***

Jisung awoke fairly early the following morning to his alarm, which he’d labeled ‘GET UP! IMPORTANT MEETING!’ For once, he sprang out of bed with a strange kind of energy in his feet, excitement and hopefulness making him wide awake. He got dressed in black ripped jeans and a black t-shirt, throwing a distressed black jean shirt over top. He left his room to find Minho still asleep where he’d left him, though at some point in the night he’d curled into the fetal position, his hands tucked beneath his head. He was cute again.

Jisung went up to the couch and grabbed Minho by the ankles, tugging him by the feet until he began to slide off the cushion. He didn’t wake up until his butt had nearly touched the floor, his head snapping up with a sharp inhale through his nostrils. 

“Morning,” Jisung said. “I’m going to talk to Chan and Changbin. You should come, help fill us in on anything we should know.”

Minho made one of his sleepy noises and rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, okay. I’ll get dressed. We can steal some of Chan’s food, right?”

“Would he stop us?” Jisung snorted.

Minho collected himself off the floor and walked into his bedroom to change. Jisung took a moment to send a text to Chan.

10월 7일, 9:27 오전  
민호형과 함께갔어요 (I’m coming over with Minho)  
일어나ㅏㅏ~ (Wake uppp~)

Minho reemerged from his room dressed in track pants and an oversized black 1996 Olympics t-shirt over an even more oversized white t-shirt. He pulled on a pair of white Yeezys while Jisung tied up his high-top flame Vans, and they left the apartment, walking to Chan’s place. When they’d gotten there, Chan still hadn’t replied to Jisung’s text, meaning he was most likely still sleeping, so Jisung rung his apartment over and over and over until his voice finally crackled through the speakers.

“What, what, what?” Chan’s tired voice complained. “Who is it?”

“It’s Jisungie~!” he replied sweetly. “And Minho, too. We have much business to discuss. Call Changbin.”

Chan whined. “We’re doing this _now_?”

“You _said_ ‘come over anytime,’” Jisung pointed out. “Well, it’s ‘anytime’ now. Open up.”

“Yeah. I did say that. Okay,” Chan replied reluctantly, buzzing them inside. They took the elevator to the sixth floor and found Chan’s suite, knocking rapidly on the door until he opened it, his hair a mess and his jammies still on.

Jisung reached up to ruffle his curls, giggling softly. “Good morning, bedbug!”

Chan whacked his hands away with a scowl. “Yes, and what a good morning it is, being awoken from my precious sleep by you assholes ringing my doorbell like there’s a fire. Christ.”

They walked further into the apartment, the door closing behind them. Chan’s bong had been left out on the coffee table, still full of water, next to an open grinder full of green, the stench filling up the entire space. Clearly he’d smoked the night before, and by the smell, he’d done so indoors. Or not, and the lingering scent was simply the result of leaving a dirty bong and an open grinder out overnight. 

“Jesus, cap that shit,” Jisung said, screwing the top back onto the grinder and taking the bong to the sink to dump it out. “I know you haven’t been evicted _yet_ , but you’re really playing with God here. I’m _sure_ your neighbours can smell this.”

Chan waved a hand. “Pfft, it’s fine. My neighbours are young people, I’d bet you any money they smoke too. And even if they don’t, they won’t report me. And we have thick walls. Don’t worry.”

“Have you named your bong yet?” Minho asked him. “We still haven’t decided what to call ours.”

_Ours_. That word again sent shivers up Jisung’s spine. Chan nodded and gestured to his bong, saying, “Yeah, I call ‘er Avo. It’s Aussie slang for—”

“Avocado, yeah, we got it,” Jisung interrupted with a snarky eye-roll. “Did you call Changbin yet?”

Chan shook his head. “No. I’ll do that now.”

Jisung and Minho sat themselves down on Chan’s couch. Next to the grinder was also a lighter and an open pack of Marlboro cigarettes, which Jisung knew to be Chan’s favourite brand. Minho picked up the pack and looked at it, turning it over in his hand.

“I prefer Camels, myself,” Minho said absently, tossing the pack back on the table. “How about you?”

Jisung shrugged. “Marlboros are okay, but my poison is Pall Mall. Hey, Chan, tell Changbin to bring some Pall Malls!”

Chan gave a thumbs-up, his phone pressed to his ear. He spoke into it, “Jisung says to bring Pall Malls.”

Minho turned the TV on, flipping through the channels until he found the morning cartoons. They watched until Changbin arrived, wearing a white turtleneck and black jeans, with a leather bomber-style jacket on top and black, grey, and white sneakers on his feet. He dropped his bag on the floor as soon as he got in, then dug into his back pocket and pulled out a pack of Pall Malls, throwing them at Jisung.

“God bless you,” Jisung thanked him, taking one cigarette from the pack then offering one to Minho, which he accepted. “By the way, did you get a haircut?”

Changbin smugly ran a hand across the shaved hair of his undercut, murmuring, “Why yes, can you tell?”

“It looks good,” Jisung complimented him. “And it’s a good thing you look fresh because, boy, do we have news for you. Tell them, Minho.”

Chan and Changbin both sat on the couch and leaned in intently. Minho cleared his throat and sat up straight. “I may be able to secure you guys a gig, at my club. Can you be ready to perform by Friday night?”

Chan leaned back in his seat and puffed out his cheeks, thinking for a moment. “Two days? That’s not a lot of time.”

“But this is a _huge_ opportunity,” Changbin argued. “I mean, a gay club on a Friday night? There could be upwards of a thousand people in there. That’s a bigger audience than we’ve ever had and maybe ever will have. We can’t pass this up.”

Chan nodded slowly. “You’re right. This could be major for us. Unless they hate us, of course.”

“They won’t hate us, we’re awesome,” Jisung said, with a smirk.

“Okay.” Chan inhaled deeply. “See if you can book us, then, Minho. We’ll pick a setlist, and I’ll remix the tracks to make them more suitable for a club environment. We can get a quick group practice in tomorrow, then we’ll hopefully be ready. You two should spend some alone time practicing your raps, especially you, Jisung. I want you to be rapping your parts every waking minute so you won’t forget any lyrics onstage.”

Jisung muttered, “Yeah, yeah.”

Minho took out his phone and dialed, putting it to his ear and letting it ring until someone picked up. “Hello? Hey, Mike, it’s Reno. No, I know. I was just wondering, have you booked anyone for the Friday night live performance yet? No, you’ll probably have to cancel it? Well, what if I told you I’ve found a group willing to do it? Yeah, they’re with me now. Yeah, you can talk to them.”

Minho passed the phone to Chan. “Hello? Hi, I’m Chris. Yes, I lead a hip-hop trio called 3RACHA. Yes, we’ll be ready to perform by Friday night. Sure, I’ll hold.”

Chan brought the phone away from his ear. Jisung and Changbin both gave him questioning looks, so he whispered, “It’s looking good so far. If we can’t do it, they’d have to cancel the live music night they’d advertised, and that would upset customers, so we’re kind of their saving grace.”

Jisung and Changbin wiggled excitedly in their seats. Chan put the phone back to his ear. “Hi, yeah I’m still here. Okay, I understand. Yes. Yeah, sounds good. Oh, that’s great! Cool, see you Friday, then.”

He passed the phone back to Minho, who continued talking to the man on the other end. Chan, Jisung, and Changbin did a three-way high-five, quietly cheering and jumping up and down. Then, Chan tapped Minho on the shoulder and whispered in his ear.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I’ll ask him,” Minho said. “Hey, Mike? One last question. Chris is just wondering, do we have a couch they can use onstage?”

***

Friday night came a lot faster than Jisung was ready for. He’d spent the last two days rapping more than talking, perfecting his flow and his enunciation, but he still worried he’d end up forgetting his lyrics onstage. That always seemed to happen to him, and he would be mortified if it happened during the biggest performance of their lives.

The three of them had decided on a setlist at Chan’s house that day, starting with a new song they’d never performed before and ending with a very special cover song. Now, it was 7 P.M., and they had gathered at Hyunjin’s house to get ready. Everyone was there, all bubbling with excitement and chattering loudly, while Jisung, Chan, and Changbin quivered with nerves.

They had coordinated their outfits. Chan wore a black sleeveless Vetements shirt tucked into black pleather cargo pants, with white high-top sneakers on his feet, and he was iced out in silver chains and had fingerless black gloves covering his hands. Changbin had on a white t-shirt and black cargo pants, a black leather crop-sleeved jacket on top and black lace-up boots below. Jisung himself wore a white Celine t-shirt and a black silk bomber jacket, also with black cargo pants and chunky black boots, as well as a black cap on his head. They were a unit, looking cooler than they really were, like they’d crawled right out of the underground scene. 

“Okay, everyone listen up, here’s the plan for tonight,” Hyunjin announced, commanding silence. “We’ll aim to be at the club by eight, we all know the carpool groups. 3RACHA performs at nine, and they should finish around nine-thirty. Then, we regroup here for the after-party to celebrate and get stupid drunk. Everyone clear?”

A chorus of ‘Yes sir’s spread through the room. They hung around Hyunjin’s apartment until Jisung felt prepared to face the flame, then they all left, getting into their respective cars. Chan, Changbin, Jisung, and Minho gathered in Hyunjin’s car, while Felix drove Seungmin and Jeongin in Chan’s truck. They arrived at the club, the sight of the flashing neon sign and strobe lights making Jisung feel dizzy again, and he walked on unsteady feet through the back entrance. 

Minho got the three of them VIP entry while the others had to wait in line. They met up with the man Minho had spoken to on the phone, Mike, behind the grand stage where they’d be performing, which already had the requested couch set up in the center of it. Jisung’s anxiety started to peak as he looked at the number of people in the club and imagined every one of them watching him, and he began picking at his nails and tapping his foot on the ground.

Minho approached him calmly. “Are you okay?”

“Just nervous,” Jisung said, worrying his bottom lip.

“You’ll do great,” Minho assured him, winking. “Besides, everyone in this club is drunk and they all just want to hear music. If you provide music, they’ll be happy, they don’t really care what it sounds like.”

Jisung nodded, passing him a grateful smile. Chan and Changbin were talking to Mike, and Chan gestured for Jisung to approach, so he did, waving lightly at the man. He wore a sleek suit-and-tie and had a golden nametag and gelled hair, as well as a kind look in his eyes and smile. 

“So, you guys are 3RACHA, huh?” he mused. “I gotta say, you saved us tonight. People would’a been upset if we’d cancelled the live show. Still, I’m taking a gamble having you perform, so don’t disappoint me, eh?”

“We won’t,” Chan said easily. Jisung didn’t know where his confidence came from, as the thought of being a disappointment made Jisung’s breath quicken. He picked at his nails more, not even realizing he was doing it.

Minho clapped Chan on the shoulder. “I’m gonna go find the others. Good luck out there, I’m sure you’ll do great.”

His gaze drifted to Jisung, who was still visibly anxious. He made his way over and embraced Jisung in a tight hug, patting and rubbing his back comfortingly. When he let go, he held onto Jisung’s shoulders and looked him in the eyes, whispering, “Give ‘em Hell, yeah?”

Jisung smiled weakly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Minho left, and Jisung exhaled loudly. He could still feel Minho’s body heat around him, and that filled him with a sense of confidence. He decided he would not be performing for all the people in the club—no, he would be performing for Minho, and his friends, and nobody else. He didn’t care if he disappointed the clubgoers. He knew he wouldn’t disappoint his friends, and that was all that mattered.

Minutes ticked away like seconds, and soon it was nearly nine o’clock, so they made their way to the dark stage and sat themselves down on the couch in their formation, laid back and comfortable, Jisung putting one leg over the armrest and Changbin pretending to sleep. They waited with bated breath, holding their position, until the music in the club faded out, and their song began.

It was a whole new kind of experience to hear the track they’d created playing through the high-quality, surround-sound speakers, and Jisung felt his blood race through his veins, filling him with adrenaline and an exhilaration like he’d never felt before. The lights came on, painting them in red, and the crowd cheered as they took notice, gathering around the stage. 

Chan pointed a remote controller out in front of him, and that was Jisung’s cue to get up. He stood from the couch and stretched his arms above his head, yawning, looking out over the crowd. They all had their hands in the air and their eyes trained on him, and his throat closed. He didn’t know if he could do it. There were too many people, too many expectations. It wasn’t until he saw Minho, Hyunjin, Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin sitting at one of the round booths that he gained the courage to bring the microphone to his lips and start rapping.

He didn’t forget his lyrics. They flowed from his mouth like water from a faucet, word after word after word without even a breath, rapid fire, and with each beat he gained more confidence in himself. He got to the fastest part of his verse, gripping the mic in his hand and bobbing his head, gesturing with his free hand as a sneaky way to keep himself on time with the music. Hyunjin started cheering for him loudly, inciting the whole crowd to join in, and Jisung found he enjoyed this attention, even though it terrified him. It was an exciting kind of terror.

Chan came from behind and slung an arm around him, singing the chorus, and they danced together, jumping and getting the crowd hyped. Then it was Changbin’s turn, and he rapped his verse while standing on the couch, Chan and Jisung crouched off to the side and vibing along. The crowd showered Changbin with cheers, as they had for Jisung, their adoration getting louder the faster he went. Chan sung the final chorus, and they all flopped back down on the couch, as though all that was nothing. The song faded out, and the applause erupted, rendering Jisung unable to avoid smiling.

Chan sat up in place, bringing the microphone up to his mouth and announcing, “Hi everyone! I’m CB97!”

Jisung stayed sprawled back and said into his mic, “I’m J.ONE!”

Changbin threw the crowd a peace sign and said, “And I’m SPEARB!”

“And we are 3RACHA!” they all said together. Chan went on, “You’ve all been wonderful so far, but we need you to keep this energy up, okay? Let’s shake this club!”

The crowd seemed to agree with that, erupting in another roar of applause. The next song started, a remixed version of _Runner’s High_ , so they got up altogether and performed the song with ease, the cheers filling them with energy so they could spit each verse like it was nothing, like they’d been performing their whole lives. It went by like a blur, Jisung feeling nothing but the music, thoughts blank and body moving on its own. They did _Matryoshka_ , _P.A.C.E._ , _Zone_ , _Start Line_ , each song fading into the next without breaks, and Jisung remembered every word without even needing to think about it, like he was running on autopilot.

Finally, there came a pause. Jisung fixed his cap and wiped some of the sweat off his brow, fanning himself with his jacket. Chan spoke into the mic, “Unfortunately, our show is coming to an end . . .”

The crowd made a unanimous sound of displeasure. Chan went on, “I know, I know, so sad. But first, we have a very special cover to perform for you all. I’m sure you know this song. Hit it!”

The song began. It was _Often_ , originally performed by The Weeknd, and the crowd immediately recognized it, whooping excitedly. The three of them hadn’t had a lot of practice singing the song, and most of said practice had been done only one day prior. It was the song Jisung was most nervous about, and after all the time spent straining his voice, he was worried he wouldn’t be able to sing properly. But there was no time to worry about it now.

Chan was the first to sing, starting softly as the intro played, then launching into the verse. Jisung and Changbin stood by while he sang, grooving their bodies in slow rolls to the beat, nodding their heads and casting bedroom eyes into the audience.

“ _I usually love sleeping all alone,_  
 _this time around bring a friend with you._  
 _But we ain’t really gonna sleep at all,_  
 _you ain’t gon’ catch me with them sneak pictures, sneak pictures._  
 _In my city I’m a young God,_  
 _that pussy kill be so vicious._  
 _My God white, he in my pocket,_  
 _He get me redder than the Devil ‘til I go nauseous._ ”

It was Jisung’s turn, so he swallowed his anxiety and swung an arm around Chan’s shoulders, bending down to look the people in the front row straight in the eyes as he sang:

“ _She asked me if I do this every day, I said ‘Often.’_  
 _Asked how many times she rode the wave, ‘Not so often.’_  
 _Bitches down to do it either way, often._  
 _Baby I can make that pussy rain, often._ ”

Changbin pushed himself in between them, shooing them away, and finished the chorus.

“ _Often, often, girl I do this often,_  
 _make that pussy poppin’, do it how I want it._  
 _Often, often, girl I do this often,_  
 _make that pussy poppin’, do it how I want it._  
 _Often._ ”

Jisung and Chan lifted Changbin by his legs and held him up on their shoulders while he sang the second verse, swaying him side to side.

“ _Infatuated by the fame status,_  
 _she wanna ride inside the G-Class grey ‘matic._  
 _I come around she leave that brother like he ain’t matter,_  
 _that girl been drinkin’ all day, need a change bladder._  
 _She just happy that the crew back in town,_  
 _she ‘bout to go downtown for a whole hour._  
 _If I had her you can have her, man, it don’t matter,_  
 _I’m never sour, I’m just smokin’ somethin’ much louder._ ”

They dropped Changbin and Jisung quickly brought the mic to his lips, crouching down at the edge of the stage and singing the first half of the chorus again. Chan picked up the second half, and then it was Jisung’s turn again, and this time, he looked beyond the audience and stared right at Minho, softly singing the bridge.

“ _Ooh, the sun’s risin’ up._  
 _The night’s almost up._  
 _The night’s almost done._  
 _But I see your eyes,_  
 _you wanna go again._  
 _Girl, I’ll go again._  
 _Girl I’ll go again._ ”

Chan and Changbin each leaned an elbow on one of Jisung’s shoulders, and sang the final chorus together, Chan singing most of it while Changbin did backing vocals. 

“ _She asked me if I do this every day, I said ‘Often.’_  
 _Asked how many times she rode the wave, ‘Not so often.’_  
 _Bitches down to do it either way, often._  
 _Baby I can make that pussy rain, often._ ”

Lastly, Jisung finished off the last chorus, singing:

“ _Often, often, girl I do this often,_  
 _make that pussy poppin’, do it how I want it._  
 _Often, often, girl I do this often,_  
 _make that pussy poppin’, do it how I want it._  
 _Often._ ”

As the song came to its end, they took a pompous bow, dropped their microphones on the couch, and left the stage, walking away from a riotous crowd with their heads held high, like they did this often. As soon as they were out of sight, however, they collapsed into each other’s arms, laughing giddily and kicking their feet, congratulating one another over and over again. Jisung felt like he was drunk, high off the distant sound of residual cheers that were quickly drowned out when the club’s music resumed. That performance was their star moment, but Jisung could hardly remember any of it, as though his soul had been replaced by someone else for the whole thing. It didn’t matter, though. He was proud; of himself, of the three of them, of the memory they had made together.

“Wow, you guys were on fire out there!” said Mike, approaching to give each of them a congratulatory handshake. “I must say, I don’t know exactly what I expected, but I’m amazed. Did you mix all your own beats?”

Changbin nodded. “Yes, we write and produce all our music. Chris made most of those beats, and remixed them all specially for tonight.”

“Well, that’s astounding. You’re all very talented,” Mike complimented. Then, he turned to Chan. “He said you remixed them? Wow. Do you ever DJ?”

Chan shrugged. “I’ve never been asked to. I mean, not at a big club, or anything. I’ve spun records for like, friends’ birthday parties and stuff, but that’s it.”

Mike hummed, then passed a slip of paper and a pen to Chan. “Write your number down for me. I might need a DJ someday, and if I do, I’ll give you a call. Would you be willing?”

Chan took the paper and pen excitedly, scribbling down his number. “That would be great! This is my cell. Call me if you’d like another performance from 3RACHA, too.”

“I might just,” said Mike, taking the paper back.

Just then, their friends poured backstage, crowding around them and grouping them into a hug, congratulating them with pats and cheering and jiggles. Minho threw his arms around Jisung in another embrace, squeezing him tightly.

“I told ya you could do it. You were great,” Minho said into his ear.

“It’s all thanks to you,” Jisung said back. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Minho released him, and Hyunjin came up behind him and grabbed his head with both hands, shaking it. “Jisungie, you fucking beast! You tore that shit up! And that cover of _Often_ , are you shitting me? That was so fucking sexy, you made _me_ horny!”

“Har har,” Jisung muttered, flicking him in the crotch, “don’t seem that horny to me. But thanks.”

Hyunjin giggled. “Well, boys, it’s time for the afterparty. Hope you’re not too tired, ‘cause we want an encore!”

They waved farewell to Mike and made their way out into the club, finding a crowd of admirers awaiting them. They were quickly mobbed, some asking for autographs while others asked if they were single. Hyunjin, Felix, Seungmin, and Jeongin acted as their shield, leading them through the throng of new fans. Minho curled his arm around Jisung’s midsection and herded him along, shooting glares at anyone who got too close.

They managed to push their way out to the street, where they separated, gathering in the same cars as before and making their way back to Hyunjin’s apartment. Once inside, Chan, Changbin, and Jisung collapsed on the couch and tossed their shoes and jackets off, fanning themselves with their hands. Jisung still felt the rush of the stage in his bones, his muscles jittery and his heart pumping. He was excited like he’d never been before, a smile permanently grafted to his face, and he thought nothing else could make him feel that way.

Until Minho sat himself down beside him, so close that their thighs touched, and his heart started to race even faster, and Jisung was reminded of the only other thing that could make him feel like the world was at his fingertips yet so out of reach at the same time. Minho. The excitement of the show had induced enough momentary amnesia that he’d forgotten about his strife, his blubbering nervousness, his budding crush; but simply being next to Minho had brought all of it back at once, like a truck crashing on the freeway.

Hyunjin turned the stereo on, blasting party music, and came boogying over to Jisung with a bottle of beer in one hand and a shot glass in the other. He passed Jisung the shot first, which he quickly downed, then the beer to chase it. He then went to deliver more beer and shots to Chan and Changbin.

“Hey, where’s _my_ drinks?” Minho complained.

“Did _you_ just perform for a huge crowd? No? Didn’t think so,” Hyunjin remarked. “Go get ‘em yourself.”

Minho crinkled his nose at Hyunjin and grudgingly went to grab himself a beer, but instead of pouring a shot, he simply brought the whole bottle back to the couch with him and drank straight from it. Jisung snatched it from him and took another shot, cringing at the taste.

“You fixin’ to get fucked up?” Felix asked, waggling his eyebrows. “I brought my piece. Hyunjin, can we smoke in here?”

The apartment didn’t have a balcony, so it was inside or nowhere. Hyunjin sat on the couch next to Chan with his hand buried up to his elbow in a bag of chips, and through a mouthful he replied, “Yeah, there’s no smoking ban for this building. Just, I’d prefer if the house didn’t stink, so blow it out the window if you can.”

Felix clapped excitedly and took his bong out of his bag, bringing it to the sink to fill up. Jisung forgot he was holding the liquor bottle until Minho took it back from him, drinking from it all the while stretching out his arm and laying it out behind Jisung’s head. 

Jisung looked at him, and he looked back, wiping off his lips on his sleeve. Minho leaned his face closer and murmured, “So, The Weeknd cover. That was pretty sexy. Though, I have to say, did you guys _have_ to pick the straightest song ever to perform at a gay club?”

“‘Straightest song ever’? Whatever do you mean?” Jisung asked sarcastically.

Minho grimaced. “ _Pussy_ this, _pussy_ that, _pussy poppin’_ , _make that pussy rain_ , I mean, c’mon man. I don’t think there exists a song more heterosexual than that.”

“I bet you any money there is.” Jisung laughed. “And, anyway, don’t some gay guys call their . . . y’know, a ‘pussy’? I think I’ve heard that, anyway. Like, gay guys saying ‘fuck my pussy’ even though they don’t actually have one?”

Minho let out a long, loud snort-laugh. “Some do, yes. But, in my opinion, that’s gross and I hate when guys say that.”

Jisung laughed along with him, the alcohol starting to take effect, and he leaned his forehead against Minho’s for a moment. Hyunjin threw a chip at them, a scowl on his face, and complained, “You’re being sappy again, stop it. If you guys are gonna fuck, do it in my room, but put a tarp or somethin’ down first. I don’t want you dirtying my sheets.”

Minho picked up the chip and threw it back at Hyunjin. “We’re not gonna _fuck_. Though, keep complaining and we may just have to make out purely to annoy you.”

Jisung looked slyly at Minho, then at Hyunjin. “We’re very good at that, you know.”

Hyunjin screwed up his face. “You’re good at making out?”

“At _annoying people_ ,” Jisung corrected, sticking out his tongue.

They continued drinking and laughing together on the couch, taking turns to gather by the window in pairs to smoke from Felix’s bong. Once they were all sufficiently faded, Changbin climbed up on the coffee table and performed a one-man show, singing off-key to whatever stupid song was playing over the speakers, using Hyunjin’s hairbrush as a microphone. They egged him on with mock cheers and whistles, and that’s when he started to strip, first removing his socks, then his shirt, then his pants, and when he grabbed the elastic of his boxers Chan quickly stopped him, dragging him off the table.

Seungmin took a shot, swallowing thickly, then slammed the liquor bottle down and snapped his fingers to get everyone’s attention. With a wicked grin, he said, “I propose a game. Spin the Bottle.”

A chorus of protest sounded, to which Seungmin barked, “C’mon, you babies! Let’s have a little fun!”

“Fine!” Hyunjin barked back, lying his empty beer bottle down in the middle of the table. “You’re going first then, Seungminnie. Circle up, lads.”

They gathered in a circle around the coffee table, Minho keeping his arm slung around Jisung’s shoulders; likely so he could keep himself steady, as he was already drunk enough that his cheeks had gone rosy. Seungmin took hold of the bottle and spun it, and they all watched it spin around and around, until it finally came to a stop with the neck pointed at Hyunjin.

Felix laughed a little too loudly. “Ha ha! Beaten at your own game!”

Hyunjin hung his head, clearly regretting having said what he’d said. Seungmin, however, was not ashamed, as he crawled past Jeongin and the half-naked Changbin to reach Hyunjin, puckering his lips mockingly. Hyunjin leaned away from him, whining in protest, but he was bested, Seungmin grabbing both sides of his face and pulling him into a sloppy kiss. The onlookers groaned in disgust, Changbin cringing and Minho making a throwing-up noise.

“Blegh!” Hyunjin exclaimed when Seungmin finally released him and crawled back to his spot. However, his pain was not yet over, as it was now his turn to spin the bottle. He did, and it came to a stop in front of Jeongin.

“Oh God, no,” Jeongin complained. He picked up the liquor bottle and drank from it, then leaned across Changbin to give Hyunjin a chaste peck, at which Minho made another puking sound.

Jeongin spun the bottle, and kissed Chan. Chan spun it and kissed Felix. Felix spun it and kissed Changbin. Changbin spun it and kissed Minho. Jisung started to worry, as he was then the only one left in the circle who hadn’t had to kiss anyone yet. That was, until Minho spun the bottle, and it pointed right at him.

They stared at each other. Minho was giving him that squarish smile, his cheeks pink and his eyes glazed. He looked very far gone, but still cute, and Jisung would even say ‘pretty.’ Perhaps they stared at one another for a bit too long, as Hyunjin smacked the table and said, “Well? Get on with it, lovebirds!”

“Pfft, easy. Been there done that.” Jisung blew air out through his nose. “Bring ‘er here, _babe_.”

Minho giggled dumbly, resting his forehead against Jisung’s. “Sure thing, _honey_.”

Jisung kissed him, and he kissed back, their lips slotting together easily, like they’d done it a hundred times. Jisung wished he could do it a hundred times. The kiss was short, starting and finishing within seconds, and it left him wanting so much more. He didn’t get to think about it, though—and maybe he couldn’t have anyway, seeing how drunk he was—because Hyunjin made a loud gagging sound.

“You guys are gross,” Hyunjin muttered, “just fuck already.”

Jisung grabbed the bottle and spun it, looking evilly over at him. “I hope I get _you_ next. I’ll plant a big, wet one on you, so pucker—”

His words trailed off as the bottle came to a stop, pointing at . . . Minho. Again. They stared at each other, dumbfounded, frozen. 

Hyunjin laughed, pointing a finger at them. “Ah, fate. She’s made her choice, hasn’t she?”

Jisung rolled his eyes and pressed his forehead to Minho’s again. “Shall we properly gross him out this time?”

Minho nodded enthusiastically, grabbing Jisung’s face and kissing him hotly, noisily, and Jisung had to stifle a laugh at the loud sound of displeasure Hyunjin made as he physically grabbed Jisung’s clothes and tugged him away from Minho.

“Okay, okay, stop, _please_ ,” Hyunjin begged. “Have I not been tortured enough?”

The party calmed down from that point on, as they regrouped on the couch to watch bad movies and munch on snacks. Minho, too drunk to sit up straight, had his head laid in the crook of Jisung’s neck, and Jisung had his arms wrapped around him happily. Deep down, he knew Minho would not be cuddling him if he were sober, but he didn’t think about that, he just savored the opportunity while he had it. The others gave them space, gathered in piles on either side of them, questioning glances cast their way every so often. They seemed to catch on that, perhaps, there was more to their friendship than what met the eye. Inside, Jisung hoped for that, but he figured that wasn’t really the case. Sure, they were comfortable together, and sure, Jisung’s heart felt ten times bigger with Minho tucked in his arms like this, but that didn’t mean much of anything. Minho probably didn’t feel anything.

After they’d finished watching a second movie, Minho seemed about to fall asleep, so Jisung jiggled him and helped him stand. They mumbled quiet good-byes to the others and made their way out, walking arm-in-arm back to their own apartment. The stairs up to their suite were very difficult to climb in their inebriated states, and they tripped frequently, giggling the whole way up. When they tumbled through their front door in a fit of laughs, they ended up against one of the walls in the foyer, Minho with his head and back leaning on it and Jisung in front of him, a hand on either side of him.

Minho gradually calmed his laughter, then looked into Jisung’s eyes, biting his lip. He whispered, “Y’know, I keep thinking about that cover you did. _Often_. It was really hot, actually. Even if it was very hetero.”

Jisung chuckled. “Yeah? Well, I’m glad you liked it.”

Minho looked down for a moment, then back up, his eyes hooded, gazing through his lashes. He brought his hands to Jisung’s hips, then ran them up to his waist slowly, letting them rest there. “Could you . . . sing a bit of it for me?”

“Of _Often_?” Jisung murmured. Minho nodded. The place where he was touching felt warm, and tingly. Jisung shrugged. “Okay, sure.”

Jisung took his hands off the wall and put them on Minho instead, one on his cheek and the other in his hair. He didn’t think about why. He leaned close to him, and quietly, in a hushed voice, he sang, “ _The night’s almost done. But I see your eyes, you wanna go again. Oh, I’ll go again. I’ll go again._ ”

Minho’s lips parted, and his eyes closed a little. He said, “Your voice is so nice. I didn’t know you could sing. It’s nice. It’s really . . .”

He trailed off. Jisung tilted his head. “Really . . . ?”

“Sexy,” Minho breathed, almost-inaudibly. They were so close all of a sudden, tasting each other’s air, their eyelashes nearly touching. Before they knew it, their lips were touching, too, softly at first, then harder, kissing, deeply, and it was intimately quiet, only the sounds of breathing and ruffling clothes filling the room. Jisung pressed his body into Minho’s, gripping his hair, pressing his lips harshly against Minho’s, kissing him like he needed nothing else in the world—not food, not water, not even air, just this kiss would keep him alive, just the taste of Minho’s mouth, the taste of alcohol and cigarettes, the taste he found he loved more than anything else. 

They parted for a moment, looking into each other's eyes, before Minho took Jisung’s mouth again, pushing back against him, gripping his waist tightly between his fingers. Minho’s lips parted, and their tongues danced together, and it was _hot_ , like their bodies created a furnace on full blast, and with every grind of their hips it got hotter until it was nearly unbearable. It _was_ unbearable. Jisung was on fire, more turned on than he’d ever been before, so he tugged on the back of Minho’s hair to pull his head back, ripping himself off his mouth to attack his neck instead, sucking and kissing from his throat to his chin, tasting his sweat. Minho started making quiet, desperate sounds into his ear, hands coming up to cling to Jisung’s shoulder, and he was turned on too, the bulge in his pants pressed against Jisung’s thigh. Jisung nipped at a spot on the side of Minho’s neck, and his voice got higher, so he stayed there, sucking a mark into the tender skin, turning it purple. 

It was at this point Minho grabbed his shoulders properly and pushed him off, and Jisung looked at him, confused. His pupils were blown and his mouth was hanging open, his ears a fiery red and his eyes begging Jisung not to stop. It was a face Jisung would never tire of looking at, and would never forget. But, Minho gulped thickly and wiped the expression away.

“We . . . should stop,” Minho muttered. 

“Why?” Jisung asked.

“Because . . .” Minho said sharply. He exhaled. “You wouldn’t do this if you were sober.”

Jisung didn’t get a chance to argue, as Minho pushed past him and escaped into his bedroom, shutting the door. Jisung was left there, in the foyer, unsaid words resting on his tongue and an ache in his heart. After a long while of standing still, he eventually dragged himself to his own room and laid his head down.

If he hadn’t been drunk, he wouldn’t have slept.


	8. Silence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> Sorry that this chapter took a little longer than the others before, I hit some major writer's block so I really struggled to pull this one together. But, I managed, so here it is! This story has now made it to well over 2,000 hits, and that gave me some motivation. Thank you all so much for your lovely comments and kudos! Let me know what you think of this chapter :)
> 
> I realized that in previous chapters when I wrote the Korean text conversations between Jisung and Hyunjin, I made the mistake of having Jisung talk formally to Hyunjin because I forgot that they're the same age. I don't know why, but Hyunjin feels older to me, I consistently forget he's a 2000-liner. Anyway, I've fixed that, so disregard my mistake in the earlier chapters!
> 
> Also! I realized that it's highly possible not all of you have access to Spotify, so I've also made a "Molasses in the Sky" playlist on YouTube! You can find the links to both playlists in my pinned thread on Twitter. I've thoroughly enjoyed interacting with some of you on Twitter as well, so if you haven't followed me yet, be sure to do that (@/reineard)! I post updates and sneak peeks for new chapters, and I'd love to hear from you :)
> 
> Once again I've tortured myself italicizing this chapter, haha. This one's named after the song "Silence" by Delirium ft. Sarah McLachlan!
> 
> Happy reading~

_I can’t help this longing, comfort me._   
_I can’t hold it all in, if you won’t let me._

Jisung was standing in the foyer with his body pressed against Minho’s, his hands tangled in a fistful of soft brown hair, his bottom lip caught between Minho’s teeth, his breathing coming out in harsh, ragged puffs. Minho’s fingers dug into the skin at his waist and their hips ground together, sending shockwaves up his spine, and he had both hands on Minho’s face, cupping his jaw, pulling him in closer. He broke free of Minho’s mouth to lick a line from his collarbone to his ear, then found that spot on the side of his neck that he knew Minho liked, sucking and kissing and biting a deep mark there, making Minho’s whole body quiver and his grip on Jisung’s waist get tighter, making him make those sweet sounds into his ear that turned Jisung’s nerves into live power lines. 

He pulled away for a moment to gaze at Minho’s face, that blown expression, his desperate pupils and red-tipped ears, that bottomless plea for more that showed itself in the shakiness in his breaths. He took his hands off Jisung’s waist and hooked his fingers in the waistband of his pants, tugging his hips even closer and looking into his eyes like he wanted something _bad_.

“Jisung, please,” he begged, quietly, like he wanted no one else to hear even though they were alone, “fuck me.”

Jisung awoke, startled, with a sharp inhale through his nose, an ache in his head full of regrets and a boner in his pants that he didn’t know what to do with. He groaned softly, rubbing his eyes. He was still wearing the outfit he’d performed in the night before, he stunk of sweat, and every bone in his body throbbed with pain. He didn’t know which hurt more—his heart, or everything else.

He sat up slowly. Before anything else, he needed a shower. He got up from his bed and stripped off his sweaty clothes, stuffing them in his laundry basket. He pulled a fresh pair of boxers over the erection that still hadn’t gone away, then pulled grey sweats over those, making the executive decision that it was too hot to wear a shirt. 

Jisung left his room and trudged to the bathroom. If Minho was awake, he was quiet, making no indication of his presence. Perhaps he’d left already, to work or class or the dance studio, or anywhere just to get away. Jisung wouldn’t blame him. He didn’t know how he would face Minho after what happened last night, after the dream he’d just had. He didn’t know if Minho even remembered anything, and if he didn’t, what then? Would Jisung tell him, or pretend he also remembered nothing?

It was too much to think about. He got in the shower and let the lukewarm water wash over his face, as though it could wash everything away—the memories he couldn’t shake, the fantasies he couldn’t avoid, and the crush he wished he didn’t have. The water did little more than remove his makeup and sweat. He could still feel Minho’s hands on his waist, Minho’s lips on his own, could still taste Minho’s skin on his tongue. If his erection had any intention of going away, it would not be anytime soon.

After soaping and rinsing his hair, he turned the water off and dried himself, pulling his boxers and pants back on and slinging the towel around his shoulders to catch the drips from his head. He walked out into the kitchen, where Minho stood in front of the Keurig, and as soon as he sensed Jisung’s presence, his motions stilled.

Jisung approached the toaster and popped in two pieces of bread, pushing the lever down until it clicked. He looked at Minho. Minho looked at him, then looked away quickly, biting his lip.

“So,” Jisung started, “obviously you remember.”

“Yeah. I remember,” Minho murmured. He touched the purple mark on his neck with shaky fingers. “How could I forget?”

Jisung gave a short chuckle. “Right. Sorry ‘bout that.”

Minho used to be almost entirely indecipherable to him, but the more Jisung got to know him, he became more and more easy to read. It was clear to see in his body language that he carried regret on his shoulders that was heavier than a rock, but beneath that, Jisung could sense a certain, albeit small, amount of longing. For what, he couldn’t say. Minho remembering their exchange at least made things a little better. Or, they made things worse. He wasn’t sure.

“Let’s just . . .” Minho started, then halted. He inhaled deeply, then looked Jisung in the face. “Let’s pretend it didn’t happen. We were drunk, and . . . acting out of pocket. Let’s just forget about it.”

_But what if I don’t want to forget?_ That’s what Jisung wanted to say, but he didn’t. Instead, he said, “Okay. Sure, no problem.”

It was a lie, of course. He had nothing _but_ problems with that. Pretend nothing happened? Forget about it? How could he? He wanted to argue. To fight it. Or better yet, he wanted to kiss Minho, while he was sober and clear-headed, prove to him that he hadn’t just done it because he was drunk, that he wasn’t ‘acting out of pocket.’ But his body wouldn’t move, so he did nothing.

His toast popped out, so he put it on a plate and spread butter over it. He said, “Are you coming to Changbin’s later to set up for Chan’s party?”

Minho put a hand to his forehead. “Shit, right. That was today. Sorry, I . . . I can’t make it. I just have a lot of assignments, and such. Tell Changbin I’m sorry, and that I’ll be there for Chan’s party.”

Jisung took an angry bite out of his toast. Assignments? Bullshit. He knew the real reason. Minho didn’t want to spend any more time with Jisung than he had to. He was _avoiding_ him, and if there was anything Jisung really, truly hated, it was being avoided.

However, he still didn’t argue. He just said, “Yeah, okay. I’ll tell him that.”

Jisung leaned against the counter, plate balanced on his open palm, straight-faced and tightness in his shoulders. Minho held a mug of steaming coffee, and as he went to leave the kitchen, his feet stalled. He was gazing at Jisung, most likely without realizing it, his eyes pointed down, below Jisung’s face, below his abdomen. It was then Jisung remembered that he was, in fact, still hard, and though he’d tucked it into the elastic of his boxers, his bulge was still very clearly visible in his grey sweats. And Minho was looking at him. At _it_. 

For a second, it looked like Minho was going to say something, but he didn’t. He just cleared his throat and turned away, walking into his room and shutting the door. Jisung smirked to himself. Minho probably thought he was good at hiding, unaware that Jisung had learned how to read him, and thus realized that he _could_ fight—not with words or fists, but with his body. Minho wanted to forget last night. Jisung wouldn’t let him. He would lure Minho in like a fish on a line, chase that palpable tension between them until it was ready to burst, and when it did, well, he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.

He finished his toast quickly and returned to his room, running on rejuvenated energy. He suddenly felt pressured to dress his best, but he also didn’t want it to look like he was trying too hard, so he threw on a white t-shirt and black ripped jeans, with a black hoodie over top and a gold chain. He put a white Champion beanie over his hair and pulled his hood up, then put on a black jean jacket and rolled the sleeves up. Once he was dressed, he sent a text to Hyunjin.

10월 10일, 11:56 오전  
오고있어? (Are you coming?)

Hyunjin had agreed to pick him up and drive him to Changbin’s. A week ago, their beach party had fallen on the same day as Chan’s birthday, and though they’d offered to, Chan had insisted not to celebrate it, saying the party was for the end of summer and he didn’t want it to be ‘all about him.’ So, instead, Changbin had suggested they throw him a surprise party, and they all had to help set up. 

10월 10일, 11:58 오전  
응응 (Yes yes)  
내가 왔어~ (I’m here~)  
밖으로 나와라 (Come outside)

Jisung sent him some emojis, grabbed his bag, and went out to the foyer where he put on black high-top Converse. He considered saying good-bye to Minho, but decided against it, figuring he needed space. Jisung would allow Minho to avoid him just long enough to miss him. Then, he would become unavoidable.

He got into the passenger’s seat of Hyunjin’s car with his bag in his lap. There was soft rock music playing through the speakers, coming from Hyunjin’s phone that was plugged into the AUX and left in the cupholder, next to his vape and an unopened pack of Pall Mall cigarettes. Hyunjin had his hair tied back in a bun aside from two strands that hung on the sides of his face, and he was dressed like he’d just come from the gym, in Adidas track pants and a sleeveless top. 

“I must be psychic,” Hyunjin said, grabbing the pack of Pall Malls and throwing it at Jisung, “how did I sense you’d be in a bad mood today? I bought you those, so cheer up. Can’t have a downer at Chan’s party.”

Jisung took the pack and gave Hyunjin a confused glance. “Am I in a bad mood?”

“You’re hanging your head. And you’ve got that sad puppy look in your eyes,” Hyunjin muttered. “Wanna tell me what happened?”

Jisung gave a small shake of his head. “Not really. Thanks for the cigarettes, though.”

Hyunjin tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “Is Minho gonna be a while longer? He said he’d come help, but I won’t wait forever. He can take the damn bus.”

“He’s not coming,” Jisung quipped.

“He’s not?” Hyunjin asked, eyebrows popping up in surprise. Then, his expression hardened. “Does that have something to do with your droopy ears?”

Jisung made air quotes. “He said he ‘has too many assignments.’ He’s coming for the party though.”

“Huh! Reaping the fruits of someone else’s labour. Prick,” Hyunjin grumbled, making Jisung laugh brightly. “Are you sad he isn’t coming, or is it a good thing?”

“A good thing. Kinda,” Jisung admitted.

Hyunjin hummed, intrigued. “Well now I’m just _dying_ to know what happened, but I won’t pressure you.”

Jisung was thankful for that. He thought he’d tell Hyunjin about it eventually, but he didn’t quite have the words yet, nor the energy. If anyone, he wanted to ask Felix about it. Not only did Felix know Minho rather well, but he was also bisexual, and perhaps could offer better words of advice than the painfully straight Hyunjin. He thought it funny—he’d progressed so far into his new attraction he’d started referring to others as ‘painfully straight.’ When Hyunjin asked what he was chuckling about, he said, “Nothing.”

They drove to their destination in silence after that, Jisung unwrapping the cigarette pack and taking one out, rolling the window down so he could smoke. Hyunjin definitely knew him well. He wasn’t a smoker, not really, certainly not as much as Chan or Changbin or even Minho, but there was something about the harsh taste of nicotine and tar that was soothing to him, calming his nerves and washing away his aching thoughts. 

They pulled up outside the apartment building. Changbin lived in a fairly large three-bedroom suite on the fifth floor with two roommates, one he’d met at his job and the other he’d met through their shared visual arts major. Jisung had met both of them a couple times and found them to be quite nice, albeit reclusive and a little quiet. He wondered if they would be staying for the party, or if they’d be making themselves scarce. He supposed he’d find out.

They exited the car and Hyunjin buzzed Changbin’s number. They were let in the building and made their way up, finding Jeongin holding the door open for them when they arrived, so they let themselves in.

“Hello hello,” Changbin greeted them. “Hurry up and get started. I’ve arranged for Chan to come over at around five o’clock. He thinks we’re gonna work on music. If we get the decorations up quickly we’ll have time to chillax.”

Felix and Seungmin were hanging up streamers over the sliding glass door in the living room, while Jeongin was seated cross-legged on the floor inflating balloons with a helium canister and letting them float to the ceiling. There were stacks of pictures laid out on the coffee table, and when Jisung looked closer, he saw they were all photos of Chan, some of them good and others embarrassingly bad. He sat himself down on the couch and picked up one of the bad ones, laughing at it.

“What are the pictures for?” he asked.

“We’re gonna put ‘em all over the walls. If you feel like it, you can draw on them, write some messages, or cover them in stickers,” Changbin explained.

Hyunjin puffed out his cheeks, flopping down next to Jisung. “Sheesh, this is a lot of work. Are we gonna do this much for Minho’s birthday, too?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s coming up, isn’t it?” Felix said, twisting his body around from where he stood on a stepladder. “Do we even have a plan for that, yet?”

“Does he even _want_ to celebrate it?” Hyunjin scoffed. “Doesn’t he have some weird thing where he doesn’t like celebrating his birthdays? Something about it bringing bad memories?”

Felix huffed. “Fuck that. We’re celebrating it. We’ll replace the memories with good ones. But for now, let’s focus on Chan. We’ll come up with a plan for Minho later.”

Jisung looked back and forth between the two of them. He wondered aloud, “When _is_ Minho’s birthday, anyway?”

“Really?” Hyunjin degraded, giving him an incredulous look. “You haven’t found that out yet? How can you have a crush on someone and not know when their damn birthday is?”

About a dozen pairs of shocked eyes turned his way. Jisung put both hands over Hyunjin’s mouth and glared sternly at him. “Can you _shut up_? Jesus!”

Once he released him, Hyunjin sheepishly mumbled, “Oops. Too late, now.”

Felix hurriedly rushed off the stepladder and came hopping over to the couch, eyes glittering with excitement. “What’s this I’m hearing? Jisung has a crush on _whom_?”

Jisung laid back on the couch and shut his eyes, exhaling deeply. Changbin sat down next to Hyunjin, his hands clasped together in his lap, and leaned forward curiously. Seungmin stayed where he was but turned his body toward them. Jeongin shuffled forward until he could rest his elbows on the coffee table. Even Changbin’s roommates, who’d apparently been in the kitchen, appeared in the living room and stood beside the couch, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.

“Fine. Fuck it, cat’s out of the bag,” Jisung grunted. “I . . . like Minho. There, okay? I said it. _Do not_ fucking tell him, you hear me?”

Felix clapped his hands giddily. “Ooh, juicy! For how long? When did you first fall in love?”

“I’m not _in love_ ,” Jisung spat, with an eye-roll. “I’m just attracted to him, I guess. I don’t know when it happened. Maybe I’ve felt this way for a while, and it just took me this long to realize it. I don’t know. Anyway, can we _please_ just work on decorating?”

The crowd dispersed. Changbin went to help Jeongin with the balloons, Seungmin went back to work on the streamers, and Changbin’s roommates returned to the kitchen. However, Felix sat down next to Jisung.

“Hey, Hyunjin, go help Seungmin with the streamers, ‘kay?” Felix asked. Hyunjin nodded and went to do as he was told. Felix picked up some of the pictures of Chan and led Jisung over to the foyer. “Let’s put some of these puppies on the walls.”

Jisung could sense some kind of ulterior motive for Felix switching tasks. They were in an area that was rather separated from everyone else, out of the range of curious ears. As Jisung taped one of the photos to the back of the front door, he asked, “So, what’s up?”

Felix’s cheeks flushed, and he looked away shyly. “Well, I’ve been sorta itching to tell someone, and since you’re in the same boat as me, I thought you’d be a good candidate.”

“You’ve been itching to tell someone . . . what?” Jisung murmured.

“I . . . have a bit of a crush on someone, myself,” Felix whispered back.

Jisung felt a tingling in the soles of his feet, and he suddenly understood why everyone else had been so excited to hear his tale about Minho. “On who?”

“Ha, well . . .” Felix chuckled nervously. He wrung his hands. “On, uh, well, it’s, em . . . It’s Changbin.”

Jisung sprung back a step, nearly dropping the small stack of pictures he held in his hands. “ _Huh_? Changbin?”

“Shh! Keep your voice down!” Felix warned. Then, he took a deep breath and went on, “Yeah, it’s Changbin. We met a few weeks back when a bunch of us were at Chan’s place, for the wake-n-bake? I always thought he was pretty hot, but I guess the more we hung out, the more I . . .”

Jisung nodded, understanding all too well what Felix was talking about. He remembered how he’d always felt drawn to Minho, how his eyes would always stare a little too long, and how that tug only got more and more intense the closer they got. He shook himself out of those thoughts, and asked, “But, wait, what about that other guy you liked? Cameron or something?”

“You mean Callum? Heh. He went and got a girlfriend. I’ve moved on,” said Felix. “I’m a bit worried, though. I’m not that close to Changbin, first of all, and second, I don’t even know if he likes guys. Do you?”

Jisung thought about that. “Uh . . . no, I don’t know, actually. It’s weird. I’ve known Changbin since high school, but he’s never been that open about his love life. If he dated anyone, or slept with anyone, he never really mentioned it. I wonder why. Maybe we can ask his roommates if he’s ever taken anyone home?”

Felix nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

They put the rest of the pictures up on the wall, then returned to the coffee table to grab more, migrating to the kitchen. One of Changbin’s roommates—the one with long, dark hair tied in a bun and tattoos all the way up both arms—was mixing a large bowl of spiked punch with a ladle, while the other—the one with glasses and a buzz cut—was sticking candles in the rectangular, store-bought cake. Jisung went to tape a few pictures to the kitchen cupboards while Felix focused on the hallway leading to the bedrooms. 

The roommate with the long hair turned to him. “You’re Peter, right? We’ve met a couple times, though I don’t expect you to remember my name. I’m Malcolm, and that one over there’s Zane.”

Jisung chuckled awkwardly. “Ah, yeah, I remember now. It’s good to see you. Are you guys sticking around for the party?”

Malcolm nodded. “Yep. We’re both good friends with Chris, actually. He comes around here a lot, so we’ve gotten to know him quite well.”

Felix came sliding over conspicuously from the hallway, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Changbin wasn’t near before leaning in close to Malcolm. He whispered, “I have a rather . . . delicate question to ask you, and you _cannot_ tell Lewis I asked you this. We clear?”

“Uh, okay?” Malcolm mumbled, giving Felix a weird look. Zane seemed to catch on that something was going down, so he crossed the kitchen to stand by Jisung, listening in.

“Okay, so, you two have lived with Lewis for a pretty long while now, yeah?” Felix began. “So, tell me, has he ever brought anyone home with him? Y’know, for . . . ‘nighttime activities’? Like, any girls? Any . . . _boys_?”

Malcolm and Zane glanced at each other. Zane said, “Uh, not that I recall, no. There _have_ been nights where he hasn’t come home at all, though I have no idea where he was. He could’ve been sleeping at a friend’s place or passed out drunk in a gutter, for all I know.”

Felix grimaced. “Darn it. He’s a secretive guy, isn’t he?”

“That _is_ strange,” Jisung commented. “I never thought about it before, because he’s always been rather kept to himself, but he _really_ keeps his intimate business private. Why do you think that is?”

Felix’s eyes gleamed. “Maybe he’s gay after all, and in the closet. You think?”

“Maybe.” Jisung shrugged. “In any case, we shouldn’t pressure him.”

Felix nodded in agreement. They departed from the kitchen to continue peppering the walls with pictures of Chan, then went around to draw and put stickers on each one until they were satisfied. After, they helped the others with the remaining balloons and streamers, and then everyone collapsed tiredly on the couch, admiring their handiwork. Jisung’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out to check, surprised to see it was a text from Minho.

10월 10일, 3:33 오후  
내가 언제 도착해야 할까? (When should I arrive?)  
찬형보다 먼저 가고 싶어 (I want to get there before Chan)

Jisung’s heart skipped, and he read the messages over and over, even though they really weren’t anything special. Still, in a way, they were. Minho rarely ever texted him, and in this instance, he could’ve texted anybody—Changbin, Hyunjin, or Felix—but no, Minho texted _him_. Despite their awkwardness from the night before, despite their nervous tension from that morning, Minho texted _him_. Jisung happily typed out a reply.

10월 10일, 3:37 오후  
찬형이 5시에 와요 (Chan is coming at 5 o’clock)  
그 전에 아무 때나 와라요 (Come anytime before then)

After sending the messages, he kept gazing at his phone screen, reading Minho’s phone number in his head, staring at his name, scrolling back up through their past conversations—all meaningless, dull things, like grocery lists and take-out requests. 

“What’re you all smiley for?” Changbin asked, flicking his cheek.

Jisung hadn’t realized he’d been smiling. He wiped the expression away. “Huh? Oh, nothing. Minho just texted me.”

Changbin cooed, “Aww, that’s cute. You like him a lot, don’tcha?”

Hyunjin muttered, “He’s obsessed. We’ve officially lost him.”

Felix leaned to read over Jisung’s shoulder, wondering, “What’d he text you? Did he send you nudes?”

“Fuck off, he didn’t send me a _nude_.” Jisung shooed him away and clutched his phone to his chest, covering the screen. Felix laughed stupidly. His phone buzzed in his hand, so he looked at it. Another, final, text from Minho. He smiled again.

10월 10일, 3:44 오후  
오키도키 (Okie dokie)  
그럼 그때 보자 (See you then)

Felix got up from his place, stretching his arms above his head. “Well, I’ll go fill up Straya, get ‘er ready for the party.”

“I’ll come with,” Jisung said, following him to the kitchen.

Felix put his bong under the faucet and began filling it with water. Jisung tapped his nails restlessly on the counter, chewing his lip. He mumbled, “Hey, Lix, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

“Yeah? Shoot,” Felix urged him.

“Well . . . how did you know? That you were bi? Like, how did you figure it out?” Jisung asked, his eyebrows bunching together.

Felix scoffed. “You’re asking me this _now_? Haven’t you already decided that you like Minho? What more do you need?”

“I dunno. It’s still confusing for me. I guess I just want to know how you navigated it,” Jisung pressed.

“Okay. Hmm,” Felix hummed, shrugging. “I’ll say this, I understand your confusion. Coming out as bisexual is a mind-bending thing. I would argue it’s easier to just be gay, because at least that way you know from the get-go that you’re different from your peers. But me, I’m still attracted to girls, too, so for much of my life I thought that was it, I was ‘normal.’ I thought my fascination with boys was just appreciation, or jealousy, or whatever other arguments I could come up with in my head. Eventually, I figured it out the way most everyone does. I got my first proper crush on a guy. At that point, there were no arguments I could make to deny it.”

Jisung nodded slowly, absorbing Felix’s words, taking it all in. He found them comforting, in a way, yet his head was still muddled. “Well, do you think I’m bisexual? Because I’ve always been attracted to women, but now I like Minho, I guess. So does that make me bi? Or just like, hetero-flexible?”

Felix gave a short, pitiful chuckle and pat Jisung on the shoulder. “I’m afraid I can’t be the one to tell you that. You’ll have to decide on your label yourself. Or not, y’know, plenty of people feel they don’t fit any labels, and that’s fine. You like who you like. Who cares, right?”

Jisung smiled a little. “I guess so. Thanks, Lix. I feel better, now. I’ll try not to think about it too much.”

They returned to the couch together, Felix setting his bong down on the coffee table and laying out his lighter and grinder next to it. Changbin turned on the TV and they all argued for several minutes on what to watch, eventually settling for an old episode of Hello Counselor. At that moment, a knock sounded at the door, and Changbin went to answer it, letting Minho inside. Jisung checked his phone—it wasn’t even four o’clock yet, and it had been barely fifteen minutes since Minho’s last text, meaning he’d probably left as soon as he’d sent it, even though there was still an hour before Chan was expected to arrive. Jisung smirked at that. He’d hoped to make Minho miss him, but he didn’t think it’d happen so soon.

Minho came in and sat on the couch, as far away from Jisung as he could, without even glancing in his direction. Jisung scowled. Perhaps he’d gotten ahead of himself—maybe Minho wasn’t avoiding him at all, and he really did have assignments to do, and he’d come early not because he missed Jisung, but because he’d finished his work? There was no way to be sure, and that bothered Jisung the most. He wished more than anything that he could gain the ability to read minds, and find out once and for all what Minho was really thinking. Alas, despite his efforts to concentrate, he could not access Minho’s thoughts. He was still a total mystery to Jisung.

Minho wore black cargo pants with white runners, a white t-shirt, and a very oversized black bomber jacket, the sleeves so long that they were bunched up around his wrists. He had done his hair, and perhaps even had a shower. He looked fresh, and hot as always, but Jisung quickly noticed one glaring problem—the rather large and _very_ obvious purple mark on the side of his neck that he’d made no effort to cover. Unfortunately, Hyunjin noticed it at the same time Jisung did, pointing at it and gasping extremely loudly.

“Hickey! Hickey! Minho has a hickey!” Hyunjin shrieked obnoxiously, hopping up and down in his seat. 

Minho’s hand flew up and slapped against his neck, covering the mark. He flushed. “ _Fuck_ , I forgot about that. Shit.”

Hyunjin grabbed Minho’s wrist and tore it away from his neck to get another look. Felix and Changbin leaned in, too, while Jisung sunk deeper into his spot, wishing he could be absorbed by the couch cushions. 

“Dang, that’s _dark_. Who gave you that, a fuckin’ vampire?” Felix asked, laughter bubbling behind his words. 

“Yeah, who’d you get it on with, huh? Did you just come from a dick appointment?” Hyunjin asked, doing ‘the wave’ with his eyebrows.

When Minho remained silent, even Changbin piped up, insisting, “C’mon, tell us, don’t be shy. Where’d you get the hickey?”

Minho’s nostrils flared and he pushed an annoyed breath of air out through them, then looked away and pointed a finger at Jisung. “Ask _him_.”

Jisung squeezed his eyes shut and tried to sink further into the couch as everyone turned to look at him. It was deathly, eerily silent, no one knowing who should speak first. Finally, Hyunjin shouted, “Hold up, _whaaat_?!”

“ _Jisung_ gave you a hickey?” Felix breathed, disbelief written all over his face.

Minho chuckled sourly. “I guess he didn’t tell you. We made out a bit, last night. We were just drunk and stupid, it was nothing. He wouldn’t have done it sober.”

Hyunjin opened his mouth, then closed it. Then opened it, then closed it again. He became red in the cheeks from the effort of holding something in, tapping his fingers together incessantly, his knee bobbing up and down. He muttered under his breath, “I’m gonna tell him.”

Jisung growled through his teeth, “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Hyunjin whimpered pathetically, but held his tongue. Felix was glancing back and forth between Minho and Jisung with a desperate expression, while Changbin just stared, dumbfounded, at the wall. Jeongin and Seungmin looked at one another, then busied themselves with something on Seungmin’s phone. Minho was enamored by his own hands, seemingly unaware of the stifling group tension, being the only one who doesn’t know what the others knew. 

Gradually, the attention diverted to the TV, everyone watching silently, trying to ignore the incredibly awkward ambience of the room. Jisung himself was trying to ignore the numerous glances Minho passed his way, trying not to think about what they could mean, trying not to let himself get any fanciful ideas. Perhaps he was angry that Jisung had left behind a physical manifestation of their drunk antics. Perhaps there was something he wanted to say. Jisung definitely had a lot of words for him, but this was neither the time nor the place to let them out.

Once the episode had nearly reached its end, Changbin’s phone dinged, and when he looked at it he jumped up from the couch. “Chan’s here, everyone hide!”

While Changbin went to turn out all the lights, everyone scuttled to their own hiding spots. Jisung dove behind the couch, tucking himself flush against the wall, and he was quickly joined by Minho, who pressed his body firmly against Jisung’s to conceal them both. Jisung looked at him, and he glanced back, only to look away. Jisung was trapped between Minho and the wall, and his heart was beating so hard he was sure Minho could feel the vibrations from his chest, so he shut his eyes tight and willed it to stop. It did not.

Changbin buzzed Chan inside the building and opened the front door a crack, then waited next to it with one hand on the light switch. They all waited, in choked silence, until Chan’s footsteps could be heard approaching from down the hall. Chan noticed the door was open, and peeked his head into the dark apartment with a confused expression, until Changbin switched the lights on and jumped out in front of him. 

At once, everyone emerged from their hiding spots and yelled, “ _SURPRISE_!”

Chan hung his head as if to say ‘I should’ve known,’ then embraced Changbin in a quick hug, which everyone else gathered around to join in on, among a chorus of ‘Happy birthday’s. 

“Really, guys, you couldn’t have told me?” Chan asked, gesturing to his clothes. “I’m so under-dressed for a party.”

Hyunjin snorted. “Do I look dressed up, to you? Do any of us?”

Minho pushed Hyunjin aside and shoved a wrapped box into Chan’s hands. “Open my present first! You’ll love it.”

Changbin led the group back to the couch and everyone laid their presents out on the coffee table. As he was told, Chan opened Minho’s first—it was a brand-new pair of Bluetooth headphones, the price tag still on them, citing they’d cost a clean two-hundred dollars. It seemed very like Minho to buy his friends expensive gifts, which, Jisung wouldn’t lie, made him a tiny bit of an asshole. Now, he felt a little bad about the fifty-dollar gift card to Best Buy he’d bought for Chan. Nonetheless, Chan was thankful when he opened Jisung’s gift, as he was for all of them.

After all the presents had been opened, Changbin turned the lights off again and disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with the cake in his hands, the twenty-three candles atop it all lit. Felix and Hyunjin cleared all the presents and wrapping paper off the table so Changbin could set the cake down, and Chan clapped happily at the sight of it. Minho was seated on the floor next to the cake, gazing at it like a cat gazes at treats in its owner’s hand, mesmerized by the flickering fire. Meanwhile, Jisung was mesmerized by him, the way his skin looked in the candlelight, the way it reflected in his eyes, and the shadows that danced around his frame, barely hiding the still very visible hickey on his neck. Jisung stared at the mark, at the memory it held, and felt his throat tighten.

Chan closed his eyes as if he was making a wish, then inhaled deeply and blew out all twenty-three candles in one swoop. Everyone cheered while Changbin turned the lights back on, and Malcolm picked the candles off one-by-one before beginning to slice the cake into squares and put each one on an individual plate, handing them out. 

As he took the first bite, Chan asked, “By the way, Minho, who’d you get the strawberry tat from?”

Minho looked up at him, confused. “Strawberry tat?”

Chan tapped the side of his own neck to indicate his meaning. Minho brought his hand up to cover the hickey again, cursing under his breath.

Hyunjin muttered through a mouthful, “Jisung gave it to him.”

“ _Excuse_ me?” Chan exclaimed, staring at Jisung in shock.

“Yep. I’m the culprit. We’ve been over this,” Jisung said dryly, looking up at the ceiling.

Chan still seemed baffled, so Hyunjin went on, “Yeah, you missed a lot. See, before you came, Jisung said that he has a—”

Jisung scrambled off the couch to slap a hand over Hyunjin’s mouth before he could finish his sentence, giving him a strict glare and then glancing back at Minho. Hyunjin raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘Oops, almost forgot,’ and Jisung released him.

“Jisung has a . . . what?” Chan pressed.

“Yeah. I’d also like to know,” Minho added, with a suspicious glance at Jisung.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it,” Hyunjin said, then he mouthed to Chan, ‘I’ll tell you later,’ with a wink.

Chan nodded understandingly. Minho was still glaring dubiously at Jisung, so Jisung said, “Um, anyone down for some karaoke?”

Zane started handing out cups of punch while Changbin fired up the karaoke machine. They divided themselves up into pairs by drawing names out of a hat—Chan with Seungmin, Hyunjin with Jeongin, Felix with Changbin, Malcolm with Zane, and finally, Jisung with Minho. He sighed when he drew Minho’s name, and recalled what Hyunjin had said at the afterparty the night before: _“Ah, fate. She’s made her choice, hasn’t she?”_

Chan and Seungmin were up first, and together they sung a rather beautiful rendition of _Dance Monkey_ by Tones and I. Hyunjin and Jeongin hilariously performed an old trot song that they all scarcely remembered from their childhood, generating loud belly laughs from the audience. Felix and Changbin impressively rapped _Loner_ by Outsider, which got everyone on their feet and dancing. Malcolm and Zane, neither of whom were singers by any means, did a tone-deaf version of _It’s Not Right, but It’s Okay_ by Whitney Houston. Then, finally, it was Jisung and Minho’s turn. They each picked up their microphones and stood in front of the TV, glancing nervously at one another.

“Let’s knock ‘em dead,” said Jisung, encouragingly.

“Give ‘em Hell,” replied Minho, with a coy smile.

Minho knelt in front of the karaoke machine and flipped through the songs. He eventually decided on an Arctic Monkeys song, _Do I Wanna Know?_ , that Jisung was only a little familiar with. Lucky for him, the lyrics were on the screen. 

Minho started first, singing the first couple of lines. Jisung was surprised at how well he sounded, his voice gruff and yet soft, perfectly achieving a desperate and pleading tone. He sang, “ _Have you got colour in your cheeks? Do you ever get that fear that you can’t shift the type that sticks around like summat in your teeth?_ ”

Jisung brought the mic to his lips to sing the next couple lines, looking at Minho in the face, eyebrows knitted as though the words he sang were serious. “ _Are there some aces up your sleeve? Have you no idea that you’re in deep? I’ve dreamt about you nearly every night this week._ ”

Minho took a small step closer to him. “ _How many secrets can you keep? ‘Cause there’s this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow, and I play it on repeat, ‘til I fall asleep, spillin’ drinks on my settee._ ”

“ _Do I wanna know?_ ” Jisung started, and Minho finished, “ _If this feeling flows both ways?_ ”

“ _Sad to see you go,_ ” Jisung went again, looking him in the eyes as Minho continued, “ _Was sorta hopin’ that you’d stay._ ”

“ _Baby, we both know,_ ” Jisung sang, and they harmonized together, “ _That the nights were mainly made for sayin’ things that you can’t say tomorrow day._ ”

The music hit its peak, and Jisung felt it, the rush in his veins and the tug on his heart, the pull that came from Minho’s eyes. He stepped closer to Minho, so they were only inches apart, and he sang with all the air he had in his chest, “ _Crawlin’ back to you. Ever thought of callin’ when you’ve had a few? ‘Cause I always do._ ”

Minho didn’t move away, in fact he leaned closer, and he continued, “ _Maybe I’m too busy being yours to fall for someone new? Now I’ve thought it through, crawlin’ back to you._ ”

There was heat pooling in his stomach and tension so thick he could taste it on his tongue, and Jisung forgot there were others watching when he pressed an open palm to Minho’s chest, and asked him through the lyrics, “ _So have you got the guts? Been wonderin’ if your heart’s still open, and if so, I wanna know what time it shuts._ ”

Minho put his own hand over Jisung’s and replied, “ _Simmer down and pucker up. I’m sorry to interrupt it’s just I’m constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss you. I don’t know if you feel the same as I do, but we could be together, if you wanted to?_ ”

Jisung gripped the fabric of Minho’s shirt, eyes burning into his, and sang, “ _Do I wanna know? If this feelin’ flows both ways?_ ”

“ _Sad to see you go,_ ” Minho matched him, “ _was sorta hopin’ that you’d stay._ ”

Jisung let go of Minho’s clothes and took his hand instead, intertwining their fingers. “ _Baby we both know that the nights were mainly made for sayin’ things that you can’t say tomorrow day._ ”

Minho tugged Jisung even closer to him by his hand, until they were nearly chest-to-chest. “ _Crawlin’ back to you. Ever thought of callin’ when you’ve had a few? ‘Cause I always do._ ”

“ _Maybe I’m too busy being yours to fall for somebody new._ ” Jisung let go of Minho to switch hands on his microphone, then he wrapped his now-free hand around Minho’s waist, bringing their hips together. “ _Now I’ve thought it through, crawlin’ back to you._ ”

Minho brought his hand up to cup Jisung’s cheek and sang, “ _Do I wanna know? If this feelin’ flows both ways? Sad to see you go, was sorta hopin’ that you’d stay._ ”

Jisung pressed his face further into Minho’s grasp. “ _Baby we both know, that the nights were mainly made for sayin’ things that you can’t say tomorrow day._ ”

Minho let go of him and twisted away, dramatically extending out a hand. “ _Do I wanna know?_ ”

Jisung took his hand and let himself be dipped back, held in Minho’s arms. “ _Too busy being yours to fall._ ”

Minho bent down and lifted Jisung up slightly, so their noses were inches apart. “ _Sad to see you go._ ”

Jisung sprung upright and slung a hand around Minho’s shoulders, pressing their foreheads together. “ _Ever thought of callin’, darlin’?_ ”

Finally, together, they sang, “ _Do I wanna know? Do you want me crawlin’ back to you?_ ”

The song ended, and it was quiet. They kept their heads pressed together, gazing into each other's eyes, breaths coming out in sharp, heaving puffs. The audience, which Jisung had long since forgotten about, was stunned silent for several seconds, until Hyunjin began a slow clap that spread across the group, quickly gaining traction and developing into rapid applause and even cheering. At the sound, both of them snapped out of it, springing away from each other and turning to give an awkward bow.

Jisung sat back on the couch next to Hyunjin with a long, dramatic exhale. All of that had been a blur, and at that moment, he wasn’t entirely sure what just happened. Hyunjin leaned into his shoulder and whispered, “So. Was that your confession?”

“I— What? No,” Jisung stuttered. “ _He_ chose the song.”

Hyunjin nodded knowingly. “Ah, I see. So that was _his_ confession.”

Jisung shook his head. “Doubt it. He’s a performer by nature, and so am I. That’s what I would call ‘showbiz.’”

“And it’s what I would call ‘he wants to fuck you so just fucking fuck him already!’” Hyunjin hissed, shaking Jisung by the shoulders.

Jisung swat at him. “Quiet, you! You’re too loud!”

Chan lifted himself off the couch heavily, exhaling. “Well. I need a smoke after . . . _whatever_ that was. Anyone wanna join?”

“Me,” said Minho and Jisung, in unison.

It was quiet for the umpteenth time, and Chan looked at Felix as a cry for help. Felix stood up, “Yeah, I’ll come too. It’s my bong, after all.”

The four of them departed to Changbin’s balcony with Felix’s bong, Chan’s weed and grinder, and a handful of lighters. Jisung also brought his pack of Pall Malls with him, desperate for release from the vibrating tension in his nerves. They each got their own bowl, the smoke order going from the birthday boy to the bong owner to Jisung to Minho. After Minho blew out his cloud, Jisung lit a cigarette, and they sat in silence looking up at the darkening sky above them, reveling in their mutual budding high. 

“So, how’s your birthday been so far, buddy?” Felix asked, clapping Chan on the shoulder.

Chan snorted a laugh. He glanced over at Jisung and Minho. “I feel like this day hasn’t really been about me after all, but y’know, I’m okay with that. Thanks for throwing this party for me, I’m really grateful for you guys.”

Felix and Chan went on chattering, but Jisung stopped listening. He stared at the lit cigarette in his hand, the burning embers, the orange glow in the rapidly-encroaching gloom. His chest still felt squeezed and his throat was blocked by something, perhaps by all the words he wanted to say but couldn’t. His side tingled from the proximity with Minho, who he didn’t dare to look at, lest he wouldn’t be able to look away. Eventually, Chan decided he’d better return to his party, and Felix went with him, leaving his bong behind in case they wanted to use it. Jisung wanted to go in with them, for he feared being left alone with Minho, but his body wouldn’t move, and soon it was too late, the sliding door closing behind them.

“Can I get a drag?” Minho asked quietly, breaking the silence.

“What?” Jisung asked. He hadn’t been paying attention.

“Of the cigarette,” Minho said, holding out two fingers.

“Oh. Sure,” Jisung replied, passing it to him.

It remained achingly quiet. Minho smoked, blowing out thin clouds through his lips, watching it spiral away and dissipate into the air. Jisung looked at him. He couldn’t help it. Minho was beautiful in the darkness, with the light from inside shining behind him, the first stars of the night glittering in his hooded eyes. Jisung lost himself in the sight. There was suddenly nothing else around him, just Minho, just his fiery presence and the breeze that blew through his hair, just his shallow breathing and the smell of weed and tobacco that wafted off him. It wasn’t just quiet, anymore. It was peaceful.

“I can’t forget about it,” Minho whispered.

“What?” Jisung asked. He still wasn’t paying attention.

Then Minho looked at him, and it was like the world stopped turning. He repeated, “Kissing you. I know I said to forget about it, but I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Jisung swallowed thickly. There was so much weight behind those words, and Jisung was too high to carry it all. So, he just said, “Can we talk about this when we’re sober?”

Minho nodded, passed him the cigarette back, and stood up. “Yeah. You’re right. That would be better.”

Then he left, going back into the house and leaving Jisung on the balcony, alone.


	9. If I Had a Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all!
> 
> This is a bit of a slightly shorter chapter, and believe it or not, I actually wrote it all in one day OwO Alexa, play "Superhuman" by NCT-127.
> 
> I don't have much to say this time, other than I'm a little delirious from sitting at my computer for well over twelve hours, and it's now almost 3 A.M. for me. So, just the usual stuff that I know you're all tired of hearing! I love interacting with you all on Twitter, so make sure to follow me if you haven't yet (@/reineard), and check out my pinned thread for links to the "Molasses in the Sky" Spotify and YouTube playlists! Also, leave lots of comments down below, let me know what you think of this chapter :)
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "If I Had a Heart" by Fever Ray!
> 
> Happy reading~

_This will never end, ‘cause I want more._   
_More, give me more, give me more._

Jisung woke up sprawled out on his back on top of the covers of his bed, opening his eyes to the white ceiling above him, his arms and legs spread out like a starfish. He faintly remembered the night before, how he’d stayed by himself outside on the balcony until he was joined by Changbin and Hyunjin, and he’d smoked up with them until he was so faded he could hardly see three feet in front of him. When he’d gotten home he’d collapsed on his bed and fallen asleep immediately, without exchanging a single other word with Minho. He recalled the last thing Minho had said to him, and rubbed his face roughly with both hands. 

When he’d finally managed to get up and change into fresh clothes—a t-shirt tucked into belted ripped jeans—he left his room and fixed himself a bowl of cereal, glancing around himself. Minho was nowhere to be seen. His bedroom door had been open and the light inside turned off, and one of their traveller mugs was missing from the kitchen counter. He’d probably gone to class, or perhaps even the dance studio. Jisung scowled. He’d been hoping to talk to Minho, continue their conversation from last night, but Minho had made that difficult. He only hoped that wasn’t intentional.

After finishing his cereal, he grabbed a hoodie and his bag from his room and went to the foyer, where he put on platform high-top Converse and left the apartment. He had class himself that morning, a music lecture, so he walked the couple blocks to campus, and only when he arrived outside the door of the classroom did he realize he hadn’t brought a coffee with him. He cursed silently and checked the time on his phone. There wasn’t time to hit a Starbucks before class started, so he reluctantly walked into the room, his head hanging. This was going to be a long lecture.

He sat down at one of the tables in the large lecture hall, laying out his lyric book and pencil case in front of him, only to drop his head down on top of it. The book was thin, and thus a very unsatisfying pillow, but as soon as his head touched it he lost the energy to lift it again. The classroom was slowly filling with students, most of which he recognized but none of whom he was friends with. That is, until Chan and Changbin walked in together, Changbin carrying his backpack under his arm and Chan’s hands filled with two coffees. 

They came to sit with Jisung, and Chan slid one of the coffees over to him, prompting him to lift his head a little. He looked at the Starbucks cup, then at Chan, his brows knitted.

“That’s for you,” Chan said kindly. “Americano, black. Strong, like you like it. I figured you’d need it after last night.”

Jisung’s heart clenched, and he almost cried as he enveloped Chan in a hug. “You’re so nice to me, Channie. Why are you so nice to me?”

“Chan, are you psychic?” Changbin asked, incredulous. “How’d you know he wouldn’t get a coffee himself?”

Chan shrugged. “Fatherly instinct?”

The bell rang, and the professor stood in front of the podium and organized her stack of papers on top of it, clacking them against the surface. She announced, “Okay, class, I received your essays via e-mail last night, I’m expecting to have them graded by next week. If you haven’t handed yours in yet, I will be deducting points for every day they’re late.”

Changbin tapped his nails on the table and asked in a hushed voice, “How’d you think you did on yours? I barely got mine in on time, I think I did shitty on it. I bet I’ll get a C, _maybe_.”

“I think I did all right,” Chan whispered back. 

“Mine wasn’t so bad, and the teach loves me. I’ll get an A,” Jisung mumbled boastfully. Changbin made a face at him.

The professor went on. “Our next project will be a collaboration with the Dance department. The other students will be joining us shortly, so we’ll wait for them. In the meantime, divide yourselves into groups of three. You’ll be paired with three of the dance students when they arrive.”

Chan, Changbin, and Jisung exchanged surprised and elated glances, instantly joining hands. It was a no-brainer that they’d group together, much to the dismay of some of the girls in the class, who gave Jisung eyes like they wished to work in close quarters with him. Their attention used to imbue him with pride, but now he felt nothing. There was only one person on his mind.

“Which dance class do you think it’ll be?” Changbin asked. “You think we’ll get to work with Felix? And Hyunjin, and Minho?”

“That’d be fucking awesome,” Chan commented, gripping their hands tighter and shaking them.

They waited, watching the door with apprehensive eyes, until one of the dance professors entered the lecture hall, his class trailing behind him. They studied the faces of the new students, Jisung not recognizing most of them until he saw Brinley, and Callum, and Emmett and Summer, and he got excited. Finally, at the end of the line, Hyunjin, Felix, and Minho entered the room, and Jisung tapped his feet happily on the floor.

The dance students stood at the front of the class, Hyunjin and Felix waving at them, while Minho stared darkly at Jisung. The professors explained the collaboration quickly—they were to write and perform an original song, while the dancers were to work with them to create a choreography to go with it. The dance teacher instructed his students to find groups to join, and naturally, Felix, Hyunjin, and Minho gravitated towards Changbin, Chan, and Jisung. 

“This is a match made in Heaven,” Hyunjin said, “we’re gonna get the best grade in the whole class, I’m calling it now.”

“Oh, totally,” Chan agreed. “And, I just had a thought. We could call upon a secret weapon: Seungmin and Jeongin. They’re singers, maybe they could give us some impromptu lessons so we can hit some killer notes.”

Jisung nodded. “That would be amazing! They could even help us a bit with the writing, if they’re willing. Also, do you dancers have to strictly just dance, or can you rap and sing with us, too? Because Hyunjin, you’re a pretty good rapper, and Minho, I heard you sing last night.”

At the mention of ‘last night,’ Minho looked up at him, into his eyes. He didn’t say anything out loud, but there were unspoken words written in his expression. However, it was gone too fast for Jisung to decipher them.

“Yeah, if you guys can sing with us, that would be incredible,” Changbin added. “Felix’s deep voice would add so much to the performance.”

At that small compliment, Felix blushed, looking away. Changbin didn’t seem to think anything of it, but Jisung knew what he didn’t. He wondered if he looked like that when Minho spoke to him. He assumed he probably did.

“I think we’re allowed to sing and rap, too. I don’t see why not,” Hyunjin said. “And if we can, that also means you guys can dance with us. Oh, I’m so excited now! This is going to be fucking cool as shit!”

Their professor tapped a meter stick against the podium to get everyone’s attention. “Listen up! You all will have a little over a month to prepare. Performances will be in Auditorium 1 the day before Thanksgiving holiday, on November 25. Your songs must be a minimum of three minutes in length, but no longer than five minutes.”

Chan was already writing down potential lyrics in his notebook, while Changbin was tapping out rhythms on the table. Jisung tried to think of something, perhaps a title or possible concept for the song, but nothing came to him. Perhaps it was due to the crazy couple weeks he’d had, or the fact that it wasn’t even noon yet, or maybe it was because Minho was sitting directly across from him; whatever it was, it prevented Jisung’s mind from working properly and shooed away anything he’d call an ‘idea.’ 

Minho didn’t seem all that productive either, doodling in his notebook, his head laid down on his forearm while he scribbled absently. Jisung leaned forward, only slightly, trying to get a look at the drawing without being noticed. Minho was sketching a very strange rendition of a stickman, giving him angry eyes and wiggly arms, and he seemed fixed on this stickman, having drawn him four times already, each version slightly different and ever weirder than the last. Jisung cocked an eyebrow and couldn’t help but let out an airy chuckle through his nose.

Minho caught him, his pen halting in place and his eyes snapping up to meet Jisung’s nosy gaze. It was too late to pretend he wasn’t looking, so Jisung gently asked, “What are you drawing?”

Minho sat up a little, looking at his doodles as though he wasn’t entirely sure himself. “I dunno. Just some guy. What should I call him?”

Jisung put both elbows down on the table and rested his chin on his crossed arms, looking up endearingly at Minho. “What’s his personality like?”

“He looks like a weird guy. His mouth is always open, so he’s noisy. I’d say he’s a pretty obnoxious character,” Minho explained, biting the back end of his pen.

Jisung laughed. “Sounds like Hyunjin.”

Minho seemed to like that. He grinned evilly and wrote ‘Jinnie’ on the top of his paper, then nodded affirmatively. Jisung felt that burning curiosity in his heart again. Minho clearly was not an artist by any means, yet he seemed to enjoy making strange drawings, perhaps out of boredom or a need to busy himself. Jisung realized once again that he really had no idea what went on in that funny little brain, and he wanted to know, he _desperately_ wanted to know. He longed to understand the way Minho worked on the inside, how the cogs turned, and he would pay a million pennies to hear every thought that crossed his mind.

Without thinking, he asked, “Can you draw me?”

Minho looked at him, and for a second, he regretted asking that question. Then, Minho glanced back at his paper, and nodded. “Okay.”

He put the pen to the paper, and drew the outline of a stickman with a big head, then gave it a small D-shaped smile and huge bug eyes, drawing light pools inside them, then he scribbled a bunch of wayward lines for hair. When he was done, he lifted up the paper to admire it, doing that squarish smile of his, before turning it around to show Jisung. Above the stickman, he’d written a single word, ‘Jisungie.’

Jisung laughed at it, taking the notebook so he could see it closer. He asked, with a wide smile, “Why are my eyes so big?”

“That’s what you look like to me,” Minho said, shrugging shyly. “You always look at me like that.”

Jisung’s smile faded, and he felt a pang in his chest. When he looked closer, at the light pools inside the stickman’s eyes, two of them were heart-shaped. Minho had essentially just told him that he always gives him heart-eyes. That he’d _noticed_ the way Jisung looked at him, when Jisung didn’t even realize he’d been looking at Minho in any specific way. 

“I . . . I do?” Jisung mumbled.

“Yeah,” Minho replied quietly, itching the back of his neck.

Suddenly, a pencil came flying at them from the other end of the table, narrowly missing Minho’s nose and landing on the floor. Jisung looked up, startled, to see Hyunjin scowling at them.

“Are you two flirting again?” Hyunjin barked. “Not on my watch. Cut that shit out, we have work to do.”

Minho scoffed, picking the pencil up off the floor and tossing it back at Hyunjin. “Quiet. He gave me a hickey, it’s my _right_ to flirt with him.”

Jisung looked at Minho’s neck. He’d forgotten about the hickey. It was still there, still just as dark as it’d been the night he put it there, and Minho still hadn’t made any effort to cover it. There was no point, really, as everyone who mattered had already seen it. It was then that the words Minho had just spoken sunk in, and his stomach flushed empty. Had Minho just admitted to flirting with Jisung? _Intentionally_? No, it was clear to see by his snarky expression that he’d only been joking. Or . . . had he?

Hyunjin snorted. “When’s the wedding? I better be invited. No, I better be the goddamn Best Man for all you two’ve put me through.”

“Ooh, a wedding? Sounds fun, I wanna go too,” Changbin said. “I need a date, though, I’m not going all on my own, that’s just sad. Felix?”

Felix looked at Changbin with wide, round eyes, and Jisung saw the light pools forming inside them, including the heart-shaped ones. Did he really look at Minho like that? He had no way of knowing, but if Minho said he did, then he probably did. He also felt intrigue poking at him, wondering if Changbin had only said that offhandedly, choosing Felix simply by chance, or if he’d said that as a way to send Felix a sign. He hoped, for Felix’s sake, it was the latter.

“Relax, you guys. We can’t get married,” Minho muttered, matter-of-factly, “he hasn’t even bought me dinner yet.”

“Do you want dinner? I can get us some Panda Express, tonight,” Jisung suggested, with a sly smirk.

Minho moaned jokingly. “Ugh, say that again, but _slower_.”

Hyunjin gagged. “You guys are gross. I’m going to the vending machine.”

Jisung’s heart was beating, loud, pounding in his ears. He had to tell himself that it was all just jokes, just an act to annoy Hyunjin, none of it _really_ meant anything. Yet, still, it was all so confusing. They had kissed for show, and they had also kissed because they wanted to, and it was getting harder and harder to separate fact from fiction. Jisung decided he wouldn’t get too excited. 

***

After classes had ended, Minho rushed home to get changed for his shift at the coffee shop, and Jisung joined him only momentarily, to change into track pants and a sleeveless shirt. They didn’t speak other than to bid each other farewell. Jisung left the apartment shortly after Minho did and climbed into Chan’s truck parked out front, where Hyunjin sat in the passenger’s seat. They made a quick stop to pick up Changbin, then drove to the gym, as none of them had work for the rest of the day so they’d decided to get an exercise session in. 

Jisung hit the weights with Chan while Changbin and Hyunjin got on the treadmills a few feet from them. Hyunjin called toward them, “Y’know, we should invite Jeongin here, too. He goes to the gym.”

Chan grunted as he slowly curled his arm, lifting a 30kg dumbbell. “I already did, but he’s working tonight. Same as Felix. A lot of their shifts line up.”

Jisung nodded. “Minho’s working too. Y’know, his coffee shop sells smoothies, we should go there after for the cooldown.”

“Yeah, sure. You want to see him. We _get_ it,” Hyunjin muttered, rolling his eyes.

“You’d think you wouldn’t be so desperate to be with Minho all the time, considering you _live together_ ,” Changbin said, chuckling.

Chan looked around, confused. “Yeah, what _is_ going on between you two? I mean, you’ve kissed him a couple times, given him a hickey, and you guys are _always_ flirting. What’s up?”

Hyunjin answered before Jisung could. “Right, I was gonna tell you yesterday, but I couldn’t ‘cause Minho was there. Basically, Jisung has a crush on him, but he’s too chickenshit to tell him, so the only thing ‘going on’ between them is this super weird _are-they-aren’t-they_ sexual tension. It’s pissing me off, honestly.”

“Huh. Yeah, that sounds annoying,” Chan mumbled. “You should tell him, Jisungie. I think he likes you, too.”

Jisung huffed. “Yeah? What makes you think that?”

“Because he told me,” Chan said.

Jisung dropped his dumbbell, and it almost landed on his foot. “ _What_?”

“Well, no, he didn’t _tell_ me, exactly,” Chan backpedalled. “Just, last night, when everyone else had left and Changbin was asleep, Minho was super high and rambling a bunch. He was talking really quietly and I was high, too, so I didn’t catch a lot of what he said, but I definitely heard him say something like, ‘The kiss was so good, I want to kiss him again, so bad.’ I dunno, I’m paraphrasing, but it was something along those lines.”

Jisung’s jaw was almost touching the floor. “You’re shitting me.”

“I’m not shitting you,” Chan promised, “I wouldn’t lie about something like this, that would just be cruel. Though, honestly, him saying that doesn’t necessarily mean he likes you—”

“Chan, kindly shut up,” Hyunjin interjected. “If Minho wanting to kiss Jisung ‘so bad’ doesn’t mean he likes him, then what the fuck _does_?”

Chan was at a loss for words. Jisung picked up his dumbbell, reeling from what he’d just been told, feeling almost like he might faint. If it was true, and Minho had _actually_ said that—or something very close to that—it could only mean one thing, right? That Jisung’s feelings weren’t unrequited, that perhaps Minho felt the same way he did, that perhaps it wasn’t all fiction. Still, he had his doubts, and besides, all this conversation surrounding his and Minho’s endeavors was making his head hurt.

“Can we stop talking about my love life? Or, rather, lack thereof,” Jisung pleaded. “I’m just tired of thinking about all this. Let’s talk about _your_ love life, for a change.”

Chan chuckled and shook his head. “Nothing to see here. I’ve been far too busy lately.”

“And _I’m_ still waiting for my Prince Charming,” Hyunjin said wistfully. Then he laughed, “No, seriously though, I haven’t been getting much action, either. Still waiting to get out of the friendzone with Olivia, but she’s been talking with this guy Trevor a lot, so I feel like it’s a lost cause.”

Jisung snickered at him. “Jesus. You’ve been pining after her all semester. You officially have _no_ right to badger me about my apprehension with Minho.”

Hyunjin waved a hand dismissively at him. “Yeah, I _do_ , because unlike with me and Olivia, you and Minho have some potential.”

“Changbin, please talk before this derails into more about me again,” Jisung begged.

“Yeah, Binnie, you never tell us about your love life. Now that Jisung’s mentioned it, I’m curious,” Chan added, switching hands with his dumbbell. “You getting any action?”

“For that matter, have you _ever_?” Hyunjin wondered, poking Changbin’s shoulder. “Or are you a virgin?”

Changbin swat him away, then slowed down on his treadmill, turning around to lean against it, his breaths heaving. “ _No_ , I’m not a virgin. I’m twenty-one.”

“Age doesn’t mean anything,” Chan commented, “everyone goes at their own pace, and that’s fine.”

“Yeah, yeah, spare me the speech,” Changbin murmured. “Well, as I said, no I’m not a virgin. I haven’t been getting too much action, lately, though.”

Jisung wriggled his eyebrows. “Okay, but like, is there anyone you, y’know, like?”

Changbin looked at the wall shyly, chewing his lip. Then he looked at the ceiling, and then the floor. He wrung his hands. Finally, he mumbled, quietly, “Okay, uh, well, first of all, there’s something I . . . never told you guys. Or anyone, really.”

Chan and Jisung put their dumbbells down, and Hyunjin slowed on his treadmill, leaning on the railing to look closely at Changbin. Chan softly said, “You can tell us anything, man. There’s no judgment here.”

“I, um . . .” Changbin started. He gulped, and rubbed his own thigh. Then he took a deep breath, and blurted out, “I like men. I’m . . . gay.”

Chan smiled warmly. Hyunjin pat him on the shoulder. Jisung said, “Hey, I’m glad you told us. Obviously, we accept you, I shouldn’t even have to say that.”

Changbin gave a small smile and ducked his head in thanks. “Yeah, I . . . I’ve known it for a while, I just never really told you because, well, I guess I just never found the right time. I thought, y’know, since the topic came up, now was as good a time as any.”

Jisung extended out a fist towards Changbin. “Well, buddy, here’s to being men’s men.”

Hyunjin scoffed noisily. “You’ve been straight all your life, now you’re jumping on the ‘gay alliance’ bandwagon just ‘cause you have a crush on _one_ dude?”

“Shh,” Jisung quieted him, “I’m finding my people.”

Changbin laughed heartily and fist-bumped him. Chan was giggling, too, and once he’d calmed down, he asked, “Well, Binnie, are there any guys you like right now? Set your sights on anyone?”

“Uh, I sort of, um,” Changbin started, shrugging, “I don’t know, I’ve been thinkin’, Felix is kinda cute? I guess . . . But I think he likes someone else, that guy Callum?”

“No, Callum has a girlfriend,” Jisung said quickly, “Felix moved on. He likes someone different now.”

Changbin looked up hopefully. “Oh. Who?”

Jisung stifled an awkward cringe. “Er, he didn’t say.”

Hyunjin locked eyes with Jisung, then jerked his head in Changbin’s direction with a questioning cock of his eyebrow. Jisung mouthed to him, ‘Yup,’ and Hyunjin gave a slow nod.

“Ah, you like Felix, eh?” Chan grinned brightly. “That’s a good choice. He’s the sweetest little motherfucker I’ve ever met. You two could be cute together.”

Changbin hummed bashfully. “I dunno, maybe. I don’t really know him that well, yet. We’ll see how it goes, I guess.”

At that point, other gymgoers seemed annoyed that they were hogging the machines and not actually working out, so they migrated elsewhere, Changbin laying out a yoga mat and starting on a set of crunches, while Chan and Jisung got on side-by-side pec decks and Hyunjin took on the leg press. They worked out together for a couple hours, until they all sheened with sweat and had used all the strength in every bone and muscle. They wiped themselves off with towels provided by the gym, then made their way back to Chan’s truck, driving to the coffee shop for smoothies.

As it was fairly late in the day and the sun was disappearing from the sky, the coffee shop was almost empty, no lineup and only a couple of customers taking up tables inside. Minho was at the till, both hands on the iPad, tapping his fingers against it boredly. When he saw them enter, his eyes lit up, and he smiled widely.

“We’re here to infiltrate your workplace yet again,” Hyunjin announced, leaning one elbow down on the counter.

Minho chuckled warmly. “Uh-huh. Welcome to Brewed Awakening, what can I get for you fine gentlemen?”

“Smoothies, please. We just came from the gym,” Chan requested.

Minho rolled his eyes. “We have a _whole menu_ of smoothies, you’re gonna have to be a little bit more specific.”

“Okay, okay,” Chan said, squinting at the menu. “I’ll get the Green Giant.”

“I’ll have the Strawberry Splash,” Hyunjin ordered.

“I’ll go with the Va-Va Vanilla,” Changbin decided.

Jisung had to lean quite far forward to read the menu, as he hadn’t put his contacts in that morning. Eventually, he said, “Um, I’ll do the Magical Maca.”

Minho went to punch it in on the iPad, but his hand stalled. He looked at Jisung seriously and informed him, “You sure? That one’s a bit heavy with the maca powder. It has an aphrodisiac effect.”

“Oh,” Jisung murmured. Then he smirked. “That’s fine.”

Hyunjin huffed. “Oh _brother_.”

“That’ll be $17.29, please,” Minho said. Chan graciously paid the whole tab, and they went to await their drinks at the counter. When they came, they found a table by the window and sat down.

No sooner had Jisung taken _one_ sip of his smoothie did Hyunjin ask, “You horny yet?”

“No, stupid, aphrodisiacs don’t work like that. Besides, I’ve barely had a sip.” Jisung looked dumbly at him. Then, he glanced behind himself, where Minho was still at the till, and he purred, “Though, god _damn_ he looks good in an apron.”

Hyunjin scrunched up his nose. “Ew, blegh, gross, yuck, stop it. _Please_. I can’t take this anymore.”

“Minho looks good in _everything_ , though,” Chan acknowledged. “I mean, seriously, it’s unfair. He’s just super good-looking.”

“Mm,” Jisung hummed in agreement, “God took His time with him.”

“That’s _it_ , I’m putting my foot down,” Hyunjin announced, slamming an open palm on the table. “No more talking about Minho until you fuck him. I’ve had enough of your whining and grovelling over him. Fuck his lights out, _then_ we’ll talk. ‘Kay?”

Jisung rolled his eyes and shot Hyunjin an ‘O.K.’ signal. He sipped more from his smoothie, looking out the window just as the streetlamps turned on at once, bathing the asphalt in yellow-orange light. Chan and Changbin started arguing over which of their supervisors at their respective jobs was worse, Chan saying his would dock his pay if he came in just three minutes late while Changbin insisted that was nothing compared to his, who would scold him for every tiny mistake. Chan worked at a sporting goods store about twenty minutes from campus, and while he enjoyed the job itself, he always said his coworkers drained all the fun from it. Changbin was a part-timer at a tattoo parlour and was working towards becoming a full-time tattoo artist, even though he had no tats himself. 

They stayed at the café until almost 9 P.M., time slipping away amidst fun and lighthearted conversation, until Chan announced he needed to get home to work on an assignment. Jisung had classwork to do himself, a paper he’d been putting off for almost a week, so he slurped up the last of his smoothie and got up from the table. As they went to leave, they waved good-bye to Minho, who stood at the till with both elbows on the counter, his head supported in both hands, looking like he might fall asleep right there.

Jisung approached him. “When do you clock out?”

“Ten o’clock,” replied Minho. “I’ll be home around ten-thirty.”

Jisung nodded, but as he went to leave, his feet halted. Chan, holding the café door open, turned back to look at him quizzically. Jisung said to him, “Go on without me, I’ll stay here for a bit.”

Chan asked, “You sure?”

Jisung nodded positively and waved them off. He turned back to the till and said, “Hot americano, black. Please.”

“You’re not going with them?” Minho wondered.

“Nah. I have my laptop with me, I can do my assignments here,” Jisung said, shrugging lightly. “I’ll go home with you.”

Minho hardly hid a thankful smile. “Really? I’m taking the bus, y’know.”

“That’s fine.” Jisung grinned. “How much for the americano?”

Minho was about to punch it in, but he stopped. “Y’know what? I’ll make it for free. Don’t tell my boss.”

He went to the espresso machine to make the drink, then passed it across the counter. Jisung took it gratefully and returned to the table by the window, taking out his laptop and opening the unfinished school document. Something about the coffee shop made him feel productive, helped his brain work faster than his hands could type, so he wrote page after page, ignoring the tiredness that weighed on his eyelids. He kept going, and time slipped away quickly, and he hadn’t even noticed the clock when Minho came and sat himself down across from Jisung. He looked up from the screen to see Minho smiling back at him, so he closed his laptop.

“Is it ten already?” he asked.

“Yep. Shall we go?” Minho replied.

Jisung nodded and put his laptop back in his bag. He threw his coffee cup in the garbage on their way out, and they went to wait by the bus stop, sitting in comfortable quiet on the bench. When the bus came, they got on and tapped their cards, and as it was nearly empty inside they had their pick of seats. They sat by the rear window, watching the city pass by them outside, gazing at all the pretty lights and vibrant storefronts.

Jisung startled when he felt something tickle his ear. He looked to his right, where Minho was holding up an AirPod. Minho giggled. “Sorry. Wanna listen to music?”

Jisung exhaled lightly and took the AirPod, putting it in his ear himself. Minho played a Brockhampton song first, one from their newest album, and the two of them bobbed their heads along to the rhythm for the entirety of the short ride. They got off the bus and walked the last couple blocks, peacefully quiet, grooving to Minho’s music, laughing at each other’s stupid dance moves. It was fun, easygoing, and Jisung couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this happy.

When they got inside the apartment, they stripped off their shoes and departed to their respective rooms to change. Jisung still had the singular AirPod in his ear, and the music was still playing, even though Minho had taken his phone to his room with him. Jisung danced while he got changed into black sweats and a white t-shirt, tossing his stinky gym clothes into the laundry basket. When he went back to the living room, Minho was sitting on the couch in his pinstripe pajamas, and he turned the music off as soon as Jisung arrived. 

“Wanna watch somethin’?” Minho asked. “Oh, also, is Panda Express still an offer? I’m hungry.”

Jisung snorted and gave him his AirPod back. “Sure, yeah, I’ll order it. I’m still not done my assignment, though.”

He took out his phone and opened the Uber Eats app, then asked, “What do you want to eat? I’m getting broccoli beef and milk tea.”

Minho clapped excitedly. “Milk tea for me, too, please. And teriyaki chicken.”

Jisung put the order in and sent it, then sat down on the couch and put his laptop on the table, opening it. He hunched over it, staring closely at the screen—he still didn’t have his contacts in—and continued typing out words in the document. He felt the weight in the cushions shift beneath him as Minho scooted closer, and suddenly there were hands on his shoulders, pulling him to sit up straight.

“Your posture is terrible,” Minho murmured as he began massaging Jisung’s spine. “You’re gonna put your damn back out.”

Jisung leaned back into his touch. “Oh, my turn for a massage now?”

Minho exhaled a chuckle, and Jisung felt the air hit the back of his neck. Minho dug his thumbs into Jisung’s back, rubbing in slow circles, coaxing out the knots and tension in his muscles, leftover from the gym. Jisung shut his eyes and let his head loll back, letting himself be moulded by Minho’s careful fingers, enjoying his touch and the feeling of his breaths fanning against his exposed skin. When he opened his eyes again, Minho was leaning over him, propped up on his knees to put all his weight into the massage, and his nose was very close to Jisung’s cheek.

Jisung’s heart was beating, softly, pitter-pattering behind the skin of his neck as he swallowed thickly. Minho wasn’t looking at him, his eyes focused on his own hands, taking his job seriously. Jisung’s gaze fell to Minho’s mouth, to the tip of his tongue that was caught between his teeth. His lips looked inviting, red and plush, and Jisung felt himself subconsciously gravitate towards them.

Minho’s ministrations slowed, and his eyes flickered up. He whispered, “Jisung?”

“Hmn?” Jisung hummed, not really paying attention.

Minho tugged his shoulders back and dug his thumbs in deeper, causing Jisung to shut his eyes and let out a soft groan. When he opened them again, Minho was still looking at him, studying his face with dark eyes, his breathing shallow. Jisung couldn’t take it anymore. The tension was palpable, awakening his every sense, flavourful and aromatic, ringing in his ears and spiraling in his vision, and he could feel it tingling across his skin like gooseflesh. It was unbearable.

“We’re sober, now,” Jisung murmured, nearly-inaudibly. “Tell me again what you told me last night.”

Minho exhaled a shaky breath, and Jisung saw his pupils dilate. “What I told you? Ah . . . that.”

Jisung absentmindedly shifted a tiny, fraction-of-an-inch closer. “Yeah. _That_.”

“I . . . I told you . . .” Minho’s words faltered. His eyes were unfocused, trained on Jisung’s mouth, and his expression was dazed. He murmured, “I told you that I can’t forget it. You kissing me. I can’t. It was . . .”

Jisung lifted a hand and trailed the tip of his finger along Minho’s jawline, his touch featherlight, making Minho’s bottom lip quiver. “It was . . . what?”

“Good. It felt good.” Minho’s voice was choked, now, his eyes glazed and lids drooping, and Jisung felt something snap within him when Minho swiped his tongue across his lips. Jisung wanted him, he wanted to kiss him, he wanted it _so bad_ , and he wondered how the evening had derailed so quickly.

Jisung swallowed. “I didn’t do it because I was drunk. I mean, in fairness, I might not’ve had the bravery without the alcohol, but I did it because I wanted to. I really, really fucking wanted to.”

The corner of Minho’s mouth perked up for a moment, and he breathed, “Do you have the bravery now?”

Jisung took that as an invitation, and answered the question by closing the distance between them, pressing his lips against Minho’s fiercely, hungrily, like a lion digging into its last meal. Minho matched his ferocity, twisting his body to pull himself closer, bringing up a hand to tug on Jisung’s hair. They were kissing, and it tasted like fire and felt like lightning, crackling through Jisung’s veins and making his heart tremble like thunder. When they broke apart, Jisung drank Minho’s air and gazed into his eyes, the deep pools of bottomless lust, irises eclipsed by his pupils. Jisung’s regard dropped to Minho’s lips, rested upon the touch of saliva he’d left on them, the way the soft lamplight reflected off it. He let his fingers gently graze Minho’s cheek, staring into him, saying nothing, yet really, nothing needed to be said.

“Do you . . . want me to stop?” Minho asked carefully, through laboured breaths.

“No. Don’t you dare,” Jisung responded gruffly.

So Minho didn’t stop. He crawled into Jisung’s lap, straddling him, putting his hands on both sides of his face, and kissed him again, deeper, harder, tilting his head up as though trying to meld himself into him, like he couldn’t get close enough. Jisung gripped Minho’s hips, digging his fingernails into the soft flesh, feeling the silken fabric of his pajamas beneath his palms. He resisted the urge to grab his butt, not quite wanting to move so fast yet, and instead he crawled his hands up to Minho’s waist, squeezing momentarily there, then ran his touch up Minho’s chest, finally wrapping his arms around his neck to pull him impossibly closer. He felt the heat of his skin, his rapid pulse, the flex of his muscles as he tilted his head to capture more of Jisung’s lips, the fluid grind of his body as he pressed their chests together. He felt his heartbeat, the steady pounding, in tune with his own.

Jisung broke away from him, tangling his fingers in the brown waves of Minho’s hair, then pulled Minho in again, open-mouthed kissing him, swallowing his hot breaths, the tangy espresso taste with a hint of leftover weed and tobacco. He tapped Minho’s bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, and Minho let him in, let him explore the inside of his cheeks and the ridges of his teeth, and Minho explored Jisung too, their tongues tangling together, coming apart and joining again with every lip-lock, a dance of ice and flame, swapping a sweet and a sour taste. 

Minho tore himself off Jisung’s mouth, eyes hungry and begging, then placed a kiss on his cheek, then his jaw, migrating down to his neck, where he sucked and nipped at the sensitive skin, and Jisung couldn’t hold in a series of small, breathy sounds that escaped his throat. Minho’s lips and tongue felt heavenly, and as he tipped his chin up to give him more access, Minho got greedier, kissing and licking all the way up the side of his neck, from his collarbone to his ear. Jisung never knew getting a hickey could feel this good, all the blood leaving his brain and rushing down his body, leaving his head feeling fuzzy and his briefs feeling tight.

Minho had a hand resting on his shoulder, and gradually, ever so slowly, he slid it down Jisung’s front, down his chest to his abdomen, then lower, to the waistband of his sweats. Jisung’s hips bucked slightly, keening for his touch, his body desperate for it. Then, just as Minho’s fingers crawled lower and his hand brushed against the hardness he found there, the doorbell buzzed.

They both froze, like they’d been caught red-handed in some kind of criminal act, their eyes snapping open and darting toward the foyer. Then, they mutually began to laugh.

“I think our food is here,” Jisung said.

Minho looked down, where his hand still rested on Jisung’s erection, and giggled. “I guess I’ll get it.”

He awkwardly fumbled to crawl off Jisung’s lap and stood up. Immediately, there was a problem. Jisung was not the only one of the two of them in a compromised position—Minho was hard as well, the prominent rod-shape elevating his left pant leg, and as soon as he noticed, he covered it with his hand.

Jisung couldn’t stop the loud snort that came out of him, his shoulders shaking with laughter. “Jesus Christ. You gonna go get our food like that?”

“Hell, no. I’d end up scaring the poor Uber Eats guy,” Minho muttered. He reached below his waistband, into his underwear, rearranging the ‘furniture’ so it was trapped beneath the elastic, and thus a little less visible. The bell rang again at that moment, so Minho quickly slipped on a pair of slides and left the suite. He returned minutes later with two plastic bags, one holding their food and the other their teas. 

He took the containers and milk teas out of the bags and laid them out on the table, passing Jisung a pair of chopsticks. “Well, time for a snack break, I guess.”

Jisung snickered. “I guess so. Can’t have the food getting cold.”

Minho looked at him, eyes a little downcast. He tapped the hickey on his own neck and said, “Hey, now we match.”

Jisung rubbed the side of his neck that Minho had kissed. He could still feel it tingling, as though Minho’s lips were still on him, and he knew without needing to look that he had at least one, if not several, marks there. 

Minho was still looking at his neck, and he murmured, “You look pretty like that. All marked up.”

Jisung smirked. “Oh, I do, do I?”

Minho leaned a little closer. “Yeah, you do. Very pretty.”

“Will you give me more marks, then? Other places too?” Jisung breathed. They were getting closer again, pulled towards each other by a force greater than themselves. 

“Like what other places?” Minho asked, quietly.

They were inches apart, now, or even centimeters. Jisung could taste his air again. He whispered, “Everywhere.”

“Of course,” Minho promised, hotly, his pupils eclipsed and his lips wet. “I’ll mark you anywhere, everywhere, you want me to.”

Jisung’s body turned towards him, and his hand found his thigh, sliding up from his knee and stopping in the middle, the contact sizzling. He asked, “If the bell hadn’t rung . . . what were you going to do?”

Minho’s lips parted, and his tongue-tip came out, licking the corner of his mouth. He answered, “Whatever you want me to do.”

“Touch me?” Jisung wondered. 

“Yes,” Minho replied.

Jisung smirked. “ _Suck_ me?”

“ _Yes_.”

The space between them was gone, their lips brushing, and Jisung’s fingertips were nearly at Minho’s hip, prickling with the proximity to his erection, which had twitched out of its elastic binding. Just as they were about to kiss again, Minho snapped his head away, inhaling sharply through his nose.

“No, Jesus, stop it, you’re riling me up again,” Minho exhaled, chuckling. “Food. Eat. Before it’s cold. And don’t you have homework to do?”

Jisung’s head dropped, hitting the back of the couch. “How am I supposed to focus on homework _now_? Do you know how hard I am?”

“You could cut diamonds, I felt it,” Minho said, smirking. “It’s the maca powder, from that smoothie. Magic stuff.”

“Uh-huh, sure it is.” Jisung snorted. He sat up and opened the take-out containers, sliding Minho’s teriyaki chicken over to him before he dug into his own meal. He was definitely hungry, but not for food, though it was tasty. He forced himself to divert his attention away from the dynamite presence beside him and focus on his assignment, as near-impossible as that was. Surprising even to himself, he actually managed to get some work done, until he grew tired and decided he’d done enough for the night. 

Once they’d finished their food, they sucked down their milk teas, Minho chewing loudly on the tapioca pearls. They rewatched old episodes of _Brooklyn 99_ until well past midnight, Minho tucking himself in the crook of Jisung’s arm, snuggling leisurely into him. Eventually, he fell asleep there, and as Jisung looked down at him, at his long lashes and peaceful expression, at his puffy and freshly-kissed lips, and it felt like a space within him had been filled. He thought again about Hyunjin’s words from before, coming back to him like a whisper on the breeze.

_“Ah, fate. She’s made her choice, hasn’t she?”_


	10. Soft Top

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> Sorry that this chapter took a little longer, my sleep schedule has been all over the place and I've been suffering a lot of writer's block. I usually tend to write long chapters, which is why they can take a while unless I really push myself. So, I wonder, would you guys prefer longer chapters at longer intervals, or shorter chapters with more frequent uploads? Let me know!
> 
> This little story has already made it to well over 3,000 hits, over 200 kudos, and almost 100 comments. That's CRAZY! I never expected such a big reception and I'm truly shocked at how fast this is growing. Thank you all so much for your support, whether you've just started reading now or you've been here since the start. I really love you all and I love hearing from you, so let me know what you think of this chapter in the comments!
> 
> As always, be sure to follow me on Twitter (@/reineard) for sneak peeks and announcements of new chapters, and check out the playlists on Spotify and YouTube to listen to all the songs in this story that's turning into a musical. Links to both playlists can be found in my pinned thread on Twitter :)
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "Soft Top" by Thutmose & NoMBe!
> 
> Happy reading~

_Let’s get lost tonight, leave everything behind,_   
_And never stop until I find your soft spot._

Jisung, half-awake, felt his eyelids flutter once, twice, before they finally opened. The lights in the room were off, only the blue luster of morning illuminating the space, filtering in from the window above the couch. The TV was still on, stuck on the Netflix screen asking if they were still watching. Jisung was lying on his back on the couch, head supported by one of the square pillows, and Minho was his blanket, soundly asleep on his chest, their legs tangled together like a pretzel. 

Jisung stretched his arm as far as he could—without moving the rest of his body, lest he awaken Sleeping Beauty—to reach his phone, lying face-down on the coffee table. He managed to grab hold of it, bringing it above him so he could check the time: 8 A.M., exactly. There was no excuse for him to be awake this early, as he didn’t have class, and he didn’t work until the late afternoon. Still, he couldn’t fall back asleep even if he wanted to, due especially to the meowing coming from the kitchen. The cats seemed to sense he was awake, and were demanding food, but he was confined to his position on the couch by Minho’s full weight sprawled on top of him. 

He hoped the meows would stop. They did not. The noise only got louder, until, like an alarm clock, it woke Minho from his slumber. He shifted in place, bringing up a hand to rub his eye, and looked at Jisung, mumbling, “Hi. G’morning.”

Jisung softly chuckled. “Go feed your children, they’re annoying.”

“Yessir,” Minho complied, rolling off of Jisung and landing on his butt on the floor. He stood up and walked to the kitchen, making kissy noises, and he cooed, “Do my babies want yummies? Nyam nyams? Okay, okay, hush, daddy’s coming.”

Jisung rolled his eyes. He used to find it weird how much Minho babied his cats, but now he found it endearing. He got up off the couch to stand at the kitchen’s threshold, watching Minho scoop wet food from a can into the cats’ bowls, which they lapped up hungrily. Minho put the can in the sink and rinsed it out, then turned to lean against the counter.

“What’s for breakfast?” Jisung asked him, crossing the space until he was barely a ruler-length away from him. 

Minho curled his arms around Jisung’s waist, pulling him in closer, and looked at him with sleepy eyes. “I don’t know. What are you making?”

“Ha-ha. You’re the cook in this house,” Jisung murmured, tilting forward so his forehead rested against Minho’s. “We also _badly_ need to get groceries. Do we still have Eggos left?”

“I think so. I’ll have mine with maple syrup, please,” Minho said, before slipping away from Jisung and skipping toward the hallway. “In the meantime, I’ll be in the shower.”

Jisung let him go, shaking his head with a sigh. He took the box of Eggos out of the freezer, peeking inside to find only two left. One for each of them, then, but that wasn’t much of a breakfast, so he also decided to cook some scrambled eggs—one of the only foods he really knew how to make. While mixing the eggs in the pan with a spatula, he could hear music playing faintly from somewhere down the hall, and laughed a little to himself. Minho was playing something that sounded like rock through his Bluetooth speaker, and if Jisung wasn’t mistaken, he could even hear Minho singing along. 

He put the two waffles on separate plates alongside their respective servings of scrambled eggs, drizzling syrup over Minho’s waffle and spreading Nutella on his own. He also made two cups of coffee with the Keurig, pouring cream into Minho’s mug and leaving his black. At that moment, the shower stopped running, and the music got louder as Minho exited the bathroom, then quieter again as he went to his room. Jisung brought their plates and coffees to the living room, setting them on the table, then sat down on the couch. Minho returned, carrying his speaker that was still playing with him, and he was dressed in a sleeveless grey hoodie and white track pants with black racing stripes.

“ _Swear I shot the damn Devil, not a bitch, but the Po-Po don’t give a shit_ ,” Minho sang as he sat down on the couch, the song sounding like a very weird mixture of rock and country. When Jisung gave him a stupid look, as if to say ‘What the fuck is this?’, Minho got right up in his face and sang even louder, “ _Goddamn judge found me guilty of public intoxication, public urination, and parole violation, but the CSI couldn’t find the body to corroborate my bullshit story_!”

Jisung laughed, pushing Minho away from him lightly. He thought it was very like Minho to listen to really strange music, yet he found it extremely adorable at the same time, and something about Minho’s enthusiasm for the song made him kind of enjoy it, too.

“Ooh, you even made eggs?” Minho asked, attention diverting quickly, flashing a giddy and thankful smile. “And coffee, too? Ugh, marry me.”

Jisung giggled shyly. “What fuckin’ song is that?”

“ _Conditions of My Parole_ by Puscifer,” said Minho, proudly. “And, yes, the band’s name is indeed a combination of the words ‘pussy’ and ‘Lucifer.’”

“That’s . . . kind of fucking awesome,” Jisung commented, eyebrows raised.

“Isn’t it?” Minho agreed. He dug into his waffle, folding it in half and eating almost the whole thing in one bite, then washed it down with a gulp of coffee. The previous song ended, fading into the next, and it was like a cosmic shift, the new song playing a violin-centric Celtic tune with a hip-hop beat underneath it, and as soon as the lyrics started, Jisung realized they were in French. 

They were quiet, eating their breakfast and listening to the music, Jisung finding he rather liked the current song, even if he had no idea what it was about. Then, just like before, Minho got up in his face and started rapping along to the song, muttering in his ear, “ _Le vent souffle toujours sur la Bretagne armoricaine, et j’ai rejoint ma femme, mon fils et mon domaine, j’ai tout reconstruit de mes mains pour en arriver là, je suis devenu roi de la tribu de Dana_!”

Jisung couldn’t even get annoyed. Instead, he was actually quite amazed. Not only was Minho’s rap skill surprisingly good, but he was also rapping in _French_. Even Jisung couldn’t do that. Once again, he was faced with the barrage of things he didn’t know about Minho, the things he wished he’d known, the things he was elated to be discovering, however slowly. His odd taste in music, these skills of his that he’d been keeping secret, his tendency to get over-excited and slightly obnoxious in situations where he felt comfortable. For far too long Jisung had seen him as quiet and reserved to a fault, and even cold, even unapproachable. He’d assumed too early what Minho’s personality was like, he regretted writing him off for all the months they’d spent together, and he was kicking himself for taking this long to properly explore the beautiful and bubbly person that his roommate truly was.

“Do you speak French?” Jisung asked him.

Minho grinned sunnily. “Nope, not a word. I’ve just liked this song for a long time, and well, I guess I learned the lyrics.”

“That’s crazy impressive,” Jisung praised. “What song is it?”

“ _La Tribu de Dana_ , by Manau. It’s about some big battle depicted in Irish mythology, or something like that. I dunno, I think it’s really cool,” Minho explained. “I like songs like this. Blends of traditional and modern music styles, depictions of epic tales, stuff like that.”

Jisung chuckled. “Mm-hmm. And what, pray tell, is the ‘epic tale’ in that Pussy-Lucifer song?”

“It’s the epic tale of a man who’s slain his enemies and thus became a victim of the justice system,” said Minho, matter-of-factly. 

“Okay, sure,” Jisung relented, “in any case, turn off your French-Celtic rap. I wanna watch TV.”

“Only if I get to pick what we watch,” Minho demanded.

“Fine, just . . . no talk shows, please. Spare me,” Jisung begged.

Minho obliged, silencing his music and turning his speaker off, putting on an episode of _RuPaul’s Drag Race_. A questionable choice, Jisung thought, but at least it wasn’t something suburban white moms would watch. While he’d heard of the show, he’d never actually seen it, so he was at least, to a small degree, intrigued by it. Minho shifted closer to him and laid his head on Jisung’s shoulder, snuggling into his side, so Jisung wrapped an arm around him. It was then he decided he didn’t really care what they were watching. If he could hold Minho like this, that was all he needed.

“So, not only do you like talk shows, but you’re also into reality competition shows?” Jisung inquired, rubbing Minho’s arm with up-and-down strokes of his thumb. 

“Yeah. Not all of them, mostly the ones surrounding makeup and fashion, like _Glow Up_ and _Project Runway_ ,” Minho answered. He had a hand splayed over Jisung’s sternum, and slid the other one between Jisung’s back and the couch, slinking it around his waist. “Oh, I also like baking shows and trivia shows. So, yeah, I guess I do have a thing for reality competition.”

Jisung chuckled, his head drooping, leaving his nose to rest in Minho’s damp hair. He quietly asked, “Would you ever do drag?”

“You think ‘cause I’m gay, that means I’d do drag?” Minho scoffed back, and it was unclear whether he was truly offended or just messing around.

Jisung shook his head, gently so as to not shake Minho. “No, I think you’d do drag because you watch shows like _RuPaul’s Drag Race_. Or maybe you wouldn’t, I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

“I know, I’m just messin’,” Minho mumbled, with a snort. “Honestly, I watch _Drag Race_ because it’s funny as fuck. I don’t have anywhere near the makeup talent to do drag. Though, if someone offered to dress me up, I might give it a whirl. It could be fun.”

Jisung laughed. “I’d love to see it.”

“I’m sure you would.” Minho chuckled along. 

Jisung’s nose was still buried in Minho’s hair, the frizzy curls tickling his face, and his nostrils filled with the sweet scent of coconut and something else, something fruity. He quite liked the smell, and he couldn’t help inhaling deeply a couple times, drinking it in.

“Are you sniffing me?” Minho murmured.

“Sorry,” Jisung apologized, then sniffed again. “What shampoo is that?”

Minho tilted his head to look up dumbly at him. “The only one we have. You use it too, we share it.”

Jisung hummed, and sniffed one last time. “Huh. It smells better on you.”

“How would you know?” Minho muttered. “You can’t smell your own hair.”

Jisung just laughed, and shrugged. They watched the TV quietly after that, enjoying the closeness and each other’s company, sharing in one another’s warmth. Minho’s body was like a space heater, and Jisung decided he was his favourite blanket, and the only blanket he ever wanted to use. It felt like a dream, to hold Minho like this, to have him cradled in his arms like he belonged to Jisung, like he was _his_. Even though he knew that was only a fantasy, he relished the feeling, he let himself fantasize; because even if it wasn’t, it at least felt real.

By eleven o’clock, they had gone through a couple episodes of _Drag Race_ , and Minho got up from his place with a stretch and a catlike groan. He told Jisung that he was going for a run, and would pick up groceries on the way. Jisung saw him to the door, watching him put on white running shoes and a headband. 

“So, groceries,” Minho said, “basic necessities, right? Milk, coffee cream, K-Cups, cereal. Anything specific you want?”

“Eggos. We need Eggos,” Jisung reminded him.

Minho nodded. “Right, yes, Eggos. Sounds good, I’ll be back in a bit.”

He turned to the door, but stopped before leaving, spinning back on his heels to give Jisung’s lips a quick good-bye kiss. Jisung accepted it warmly, then watched him open the door and leave the suite, fitting his AirPods into his ears. Jisung returned to the couch and laid back, his chest feeling full, heart beating like a drum. He considered continuing his assignment, but chose procrastination, putting on old episodes of _The Office_. He was halfway through his second episode when his phone buzzed, and he checked it to see a text from Minho.

10월 12일, 12:24 오후  
넌 딱딱한 타코 껍데기를 좋아하니, 부드러운 타코 껍데기를 좋아하니? (Do you like hard taco shells or soft taco shells?)

Jisung breathed a chuckle and typed out a response.

10월 12일, 12:25 오후  
저는 딱딱한 타코 껍데기를 좋아해요 (I like hard taco shells)

He put his phone down on the cushion beside him and looked back at the TV. No sooner had he done so when another couple texts came through.

10월 12일, 12:28 오후  
오키~ (Okie~)  
아이스캔디도 샀어!! (I also bought popsicles!!)  
곧 보자ㅏㅏ (See you soooon)

Jisung couldn’t decide if Minho was cuter over text or in real life. He felt like he could get used to texting him more often, rather than their usual ‘Yes,’ ‘No,’ ‘Okay’ conversations that were colourless and unfriendly. He very much enjoyed the freedom to talk more openly with Minho, to treat him like a real friend instead of just a roommate. However, given their current situation, that proposed another problem. He was only just starting to get used to Minho being his friend, but they had already progressed as far as cuddling and good-bye kisses. He didn’t know how far exactly their relationship stretched, and therefore, he also didn’t know what he was within boundary to do. He also wasn’t sure if he should ask, in case that could complicate things, or worse, scare Minho away.

The rest of the episode went on without Jisung absorbing a second of it, too caught up in his own thoughts and worries. He considered watching another, but decided instead he needed something that would really distract his mind, so he turned the TV off and got to work on his assignment. He worked very slowly, the pages filling at a snail’s pace, his brain not cooperating how he wanted it to, but despite his frustration he forced himself to keep going. It was due that week, after all.

Soon thereafter, Minho returned home, two bags of groceries in his hands. He pushed the front door open with his hip and kicked his shoes off, holding his keys between his teeth, and made a beeline for the kitchen to unload the bags into the fridge and cupboards. Before he put the popsicles in the freezer, he took one out of the box, bringing it with him to the couch.

“How was your run?” Jisung asked absently, focused on the computer screen.

Minho ripped open the popsicle wrapper. “Good, I feel refreshed. You doing homework still?”

“Does it _ever_ end?” Jisung huffed. Then he looked up, squinting at the pink popsicle that Minho pushed past his lips. “Why’d you buy those, anyway? It’s the middle of October.”

“Exactly,” Minho said, drawing the popsicle out slowly, “they were on sale. Besides, is there ever an off-season when it comes to treats?”

Jisung couldn’t argue with that. Minho got up and retreated to his room for a moment, returning with his own laptop and sitting next to Jisung, opening it. Jisung was curious as to what exactly he was doing—classwork? Research? Personal business?—but he wouldn’t allow himself to be distracted by it, as distracting as Minho was. He focused stubbornly on his own business, typing fervently, trying to ignore the sounds of loud sucking and lip-smacking coming from beside him. He couldn’t ignore it, and it only grew increasingly more irritating, so he turned his head swiftly, intending to tell Minho to shut it.

The words dissolved in his mouth when he looked at Minho, who circled his tongue around the tip of the popsicle, then licked a stripe up the length of it. Jisung’s mouth went dry very quickly. He watched Minho, transfixed, watched him lick the bottom and the sides of the popsicle, then swallow the whole thing up to where his fingers held onto the stick, drawing it out from his lips slowly, savoring the taste. He laved his tongue across the tip again, then suckled it, then pushed it halfway into his mouth again, then pulled it out. 

Jisung looked away, pointing his blown eyes to his laptop screen. He would _not_ imagine what he was about to imagine. No, that would be crude, and distasteful of him. Minho was innocently browsing the web while enjoying a cooling treat after working up a sweat on his run. Sure, it certainly _looked_ obscene, but it wasn’t. He was simply eating a popsicle. He wasn’t on his knees, in front of Jisung, his eyes pointed up sweetly while he dragged his flat tongue across the underside of Jisung’s cock, from base to tip. No, he wasn’t doing that. He wasn’t suckling the head, kissing it with his soft lips, swallowing it all the way to the base. He wasn’t making Jisung see stars with the way he moved his tongue, covering his dick in his spit, sucking on him messily, sloppily, yet oh-so-sweetly. He wasn’t.

Shit, he imagined it. He shook his head vigorously and slapped both cheeks, as if he could rid himself of the images that way, like he was an Etch-n-Sketch. He put both hands on his laptop keyboard, intending to write more to distract from where his mind wanted to go, but he could still see Minho in his periphery, could still _hear_ him sucking and licking the popsicle. He couldn’t write even a single word. There were no thoughts in his brain, empty of blood, all of it having gone instead to his crotch, to the erection that writhed against his own thigh. Minho was still beside him, and one glance to Minho’s right would be all it took to alert him of Jisung’s shame, so Jisung totally-not-suspiciously grabbed the hem of his shirt to pull it over his nethers. 

Minho was still, without pause, noisily eating the popsicle, and at this point Jisung wasn’t entirely sure if he was doing it on purpose or not. One thing he _was_ sure about was he wouldn’t get any work done like this. He wanted to escape to his room for a moment of peace, but there was no way of doing that without looking _incredibly_ suspicious, not to mention if he stood up he would end up jousting Minho’s head with his boner. So he was stuck there, between the assignment he could no longer focus on and the sounds to his left that he couldn’t ignore. 

He was finally given respite when Minho finished the popsicle, dropping the bare stick onto the table beside his laptop before closing it and removing a flash drive from the USB port. He got up, pocketing the flash drive, and made for the foyer where he put his shoes back on.

“Gotta make a run to the campus library to print out some shit,” Minho said, leaning against the wall. “Be back in a few.”

“See ya,” Jisung called as he left the suite, hoping his voice didn’t sound too strained. He was relieved to be spared of Minho’s suggestive popsicle-eating, and even more relieved that Minho hadn’t seemed to have noticed his compromised position. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the embarrassment he’d feel if he’d been caught. It was certainly a new low of his to get hard watching someone eat a goddamn popsicle. 

He shook his head again. The ordeal was over, the popsicle and Minho himself gone, so he could get back to work and forget about it. That’s right, forget about it. Forget about Minho’s tongue, his lips, the sounds of wet sucking; forget about the images in his head of Minho knelt before him, of his cock in Minho’s mouth, the fantasies of what that would feel like, the feeling of Minho’s tongue sliding up his heat, his lips curling around the head, tucked carefully over his teeth so they wouldn’t scrape as he took every inch into his mouth until the tip touched the back of his throat. He should just forget about all that and get back to work. Except he couldn’t, he couldn’t shoo his imagination away, he couldn’t stop the vibrations in the pit of his stomach and the tingles in his groin that left his briefs feeling two sizes too small.

It was impossible to work. His brain was too fuzzy and his pants were too cramped. He laid back on the couch, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to reboot. That was a bad idea, because when his eyes closed, all he saw in the darkness was Minho, his dark gaze filled with lust, his lips wet and puckered and his tongue begging to be soiled. Jisung couldn’t think about anything else. He’d lost control of his thoughts, and now he could feel Minho’s hands running up his thighs and squeezing them, could feel his breath on his dick, the wetness and warmth of his mouth. He could see Minho crouched on the floor before him, bent over his pelvis, his head bobbing, and he could see his own hand running through his soft brown curls, tugging on them as his toes curled and his spine went rigid, his muscles tensing with every kiss and lick and every small amount of suction applied. 

That was it. Jisung gave into his desire, his desperation becoming too much to handle, and he slid his hand into his black sweats and below the elastic of his briefs, his mouth falling open and letting out a soft whine as he wrapped his fingers around his erection. It was stiff as iron and gave off heat like a metal pipe on a pile of hot coals, and as he slid his fist up the length, it sent tremors through his legs and almost nauseating tingles across his stomach. 

He let his head fall back and shut his eyes as he stroked himself, imagining it was not his own hand touching him, but Minho’s soft palms rubbing every inch, featherlight brushes and tight squeezes, pressing his thumb into the slit and moving it in circular motions, tearing a low groan from Jisung’s throat. He brought his free hand up to the side of his neck, his fingertips grazing the marks Minho had left there, and he could feel Minho’s lips on him again, sucking and nibbling his sensitive skin, setting his nerves alight. 

Jisung moved his hand faster, the pleasure in his gut coiling, getting tighter and tighter, like a bowstring pulled taut. The pressure built, making him pant and let out choked moans of Minho’s name, the only word on his mind and the only thing his body yearned for, the hands he wished would touch him and the lips he wished would kiss him. It was so much worse—or so much better—being that Jisung _had_ kissed him, _had_ been touched by him, and therefore he knew exactly what both felt like, making it so easy to imagine those lips on him again, on his mouth, on his neck, on his cock; and those hands, trailing all over his prickling skin, leaving no spot untouched, a trail of heat like fire in their wake. 

His grip tightened, the shaking in his body making his rhythm falter, and with one final stroke, one final squeeze to the tip, he was coming, reverberations traveling up his spine and pushing a cracked moan from his throat. Every muscle went stiff, then lax, and he slumped like a pile of Jell-O, breathing harsh and ragged puffs out of his open mouth, staring up at the ceiling. It was then, as he pulled his hand out of his briefs and laid it sprawled on his heaving stomach, that he was hit with a wave of post-nut clarity. He had _really_ just done that. The shame crawled its way from his chest to his face, ruddying his cheeks, settling at the forefront of his mind, making him visibly cringe.

He didn’t have time to think about it, though, as he heard the door unlock. Minho was home. Jisung couldn’t bring himself to face him just yet, so he sped off to his room before the door opened, hiding himself inside.

“Jisung?” he heard Minho call. “You go out?”

“No, I’m here!” he responded, both hands and his forehead pressed against the bedroom door. “Just getting changed!”

“Oh. Okay,” said Minho. 

Jisung cursed at himself. There was no way Minho could know what he did, nor was there any reason for him to suspect anything, yet still Jisung had no idea how he’d look him in the eyes. He worried one look at Minho’s face would have him crumpling to the floor in shame, or worse, getting hard all over again. Still, he couldn’t hide forever. He also couldn’t stand the warm stickiness in his briefs, so he quickly changed into fresh ones, then black jeans over top and an Off-White hoodie. He put deodorant on, hoping it would mask the stench of his sweat, then tossed his shameful soiled underwear in the laundry and took a breath for courage before emerging from his bedroom.

Minho was sitting on the couch, right where he’d been before, scrolling through his phone. When he saw Jisung, he flashed him a sunny smile, unaware of his sin, and Jisung returned the smile, as though nothing had happened.

***

Jisung had been at work for a little over five hours, stuck behind the desk he hated so much, and as it was late in the day he’d only seen around three customers, and even that was a while ago. When he’d first arrived for his shift, his manager had given him a pointed look, likely due to the fact that one side of his neck was almost entirely purple. However, he hadn’t said anything.

Jisung felt his phone buzz in his front pocket. Checking that no one was watching, he carefully snuck it out to look at it under the desk.

10월 12일, 7:39 오후  
언제 퇴근해? (When do you get off work?)

It was from Hyunjin, probably looking to hang out later. Jisung smiled to himself and typed a reply.

10월 12일, 7:40 오후  
8시에 끝내 (I finish at 8 o’clock)  
왜? (Why?)

There was definitely a _lot_ he needed to tell Hyunjin. Frankly, he worried for his friend. The poor guy’s head might explode upon hearing the barrage of information Jisung had for him. He chuckled at the thought. Just then, another text came in.

10월 12일, 7:42 오후  
필릭스와 난 찬의 집으로 갈 거야 (Felix and I are going to Chan’s house)

That was certainly convenient for him. It would give him ample opportunity to fill his curious friends in on all the nitty-gritty details of his and Minho’s passion-fueled night. He excitedly replied to Hyunjin’s text.

10월 12일, 7:44 오후  
난 퇴근 후에 찬네 집에 갈 거야 (I’ll go to Chan’s after work)  
거기서 보자 (See you there)

There were only fifteen minutes left until he could clock out, but as always, time moved so, infuriatingly slowly. He watched the clock on the computer monitor like an eagle watching prey on the ground below it, willing time to move faster as though he could achieve that with the power of his mind. Actually, time seemed to move even slower with him watching it, as if it was shy. So he looked away.

What felt like eons later, he was finally allowed to clock out. He collected his bag and said a hurried good-bye to his manager, then ran out of the record shop to catch the bus in the nick of time. He rode it until he was a few blocks from Chan’s place, then walked the rest of the way, hands in his pockets and a pep in his step. He arrived at the building quickly, buzzing Chan’s suite.

“Yello?” Chan’s voice crackled through the speaker.

“Ay yo, what up? It’s J.ONE,” Jisung muttered sarcastically. “Lemme in.”

The door opened and he went in, taking the elevator up to Chan’s suite. No sooner had he entered the threshold of the house did Hyunjin leap from the couch and scurry over, nearly barrelling straight into him in his excitement.

“Well, hello, you!” Hyunjin almost screeched. “What is this you’ve got here?”

He was pawing and poking at Jisung’s neck, so Jisung shooed him away. “Don’t prod them. They _are_ bruises, y’know. Anyway, they were a gift. From Minho.”

Hyunjin clapped rapidly, and Chan pat him on the back. They grouped together on the couch, and Jisung looked around himself, perplexed.

“Felix isn’t here yet?” he asked.

“No. He’s on his way, apparently,” said Chan.

“Yeah, yeah, never mind that,” murmured Hyunjin, waving his hand dismissively. “I want to hear about these hickeys. You have a _lot_ of explaining to do, mister.”

Jisung snorted. “What’s there to explain? Minho gave me a bunch of hickeys, _you_ do the math.”

Hyunjin’s eyes sparkled. “You finally fucked him?”

Jisung pursed his lips, and stalled. “Er . . . no, actually. Not even close. We just made out last night. It was pretty hot ‘n heavy, but it didn’t really go anywhere.”

“Ugh,” Hyunjin pouted. “You got me all excited for nothing.”

“Right. So sorry about that. But y’know what?” Jisung said, and the others leaned in expectantly. “I jacked off this morning. Can you believe it?”

“I can,” mumbled Chan, “but I didn’t need to know that.”

“I didn’t _want_ to know that,” added Hyunjin.

“No, no, listen, you guys,” Jisung insisted, standing up like he was giving a speech. “I haven’t jacked off in _months_. I mean, I never needed to, ‘cause I was getting it like, every other night. But I actually had to get myself off this morning. And you wanna know why?”

Hyunjin shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

Jisung wasn’t listening. “Because Minho ate a popsicle in front of me. _That’s_ why. He ate a popsicle, and it got me thinkin’, and yeah, you know the rest. Isn’t that nuts? Like, am I depraved? Or am I just that desperate?”

Chan shrugged. “You’re probably backed up. Hasn’t it been, what, almost a month since you last slept with someone?”

“For you, that’s like years,” Hyunjin commented. “You fuck like a rabbit. I’m honestly surprised you survived this long.”

Jisung collapsed back on the couch between the two of them. “Damn. Yeah, I guess I’m kinda going crazy. It’s bugging me.”

“I understand you,” Chan said comfortingly. “I mean, Minho is _hot_. If he was making out with _me_ and leaving hickeys on _my_ neck, he would not be leaving un-fucked. I’m shocked you didn’t take the chance.”

“Eh. We were interrupted by Uber Eats, the moment was lost.” Jisung sighed wistfully. “I guess what’s most shocking for me is, just a few weeks ago, I was insisting that I was totally straight, and now just seeing a guy eat a popsicle is too much for me. I’ve really fallen off the deep end.”

Hyunjin huffed exasperatedly. “I don’t know how many times I need to repeat myself. Just _fuck_ him. You’ll feel better, I promise.”

“I’ll fuck him when I want to, okay?” Jisung said pointedly.

“Yeah. I’m sorry,” Hyunjin apologized. “I don’t mean to pressure you. It’s just, you keep whining about how badly you want him, and the opportunity presents itself again and again, but you never take it. I’m running out of advice to give you.”

Jisung looked at him quizzically. “You were giving advice?”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, then his face softened. “I’ll stop barking at you to fuck him. I don’t want you to feel pressured, y’know, you can go at your own pace. I’m sorry for being annoying, I know I’m too much sometimes.”

Jisung pat the top of his head pityingly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m used to you by now. I guess I’m just taking it slow with Minho, testing the waters. I don’t know exactly how far he wants to go, yet, so I’m taking what he gives and savoring it. Does that make sense?”

“I get what you mean, but that’s so unlike you,” said Chan, his eyebrows knitted, almost like he was concerned. “You _never_ take it slow. Even back when you did used to date, you were together and broken up within weeks. Since starting college you’ve been strictly one-and-done. What changed?”

“I _like_ Minho. That’s ‘what changed,’” Jisung replied. “I mean, all this time I’ve been fucking people I didn’t really care about. There was no deeper meaning, just two people having fun together for a night. I never fell for anyone and never wanted to, but with Minho, it just . . . happened. Now there’s apprehension, and feeling involved. It’s more complicated that way.”

Hyunjin slung an arm around him and jiggled him side-to-side. “I’m rooting for you, you know that. I really hope things work out.”

Jisung smiled thankfully at him. He was reminded once again how grateful he was to have Hyunjin as a friend. Their friendship had started off rocky, born of mutual dislike, yet they had always gravitated toward each other, perhaps due to a secret admiration for one another that hid itself behind their bickering. At some point they’d put their past behind them and learned that they were more alike than they thought, and their friendship had blossomed from there. Jisung wouldn’t have it any other way.

Chan’s doorbell rang, so he went to answer it, buzzing the person in. Felix arrived at the suite moments later, setting his heavy backpack down gingerly and sitting on the couch. When he looked at Jisung, his eyes widened.

“Jesus Christ Al-fuckin’-mighty,” he muttered, his brows halfway up his forehead. “That’s a battle wound, if I ever saw one. You look like you got attacked.”

“He _did_ ,” Hyunjin sneered, “by Minho’s sexy, luscious lips. Mwah!”

Hyunjin started making shrill kissy noises in Jisung’s ear, so he swatted him away. “Yeah, Minho got me back. We made out ‘n stuff.”

“Is it finally happening?” Felix whispered. 

“Hardly,” Hyunjin scoffed.

Felix sat down with a nod, as if to say ‘That’s what I thought.’ He unzipped his bag and took out his bong, bringing it to Chan’s kitchen. Standing in front of the sink, he called behind him, “Oh, I invited Changbin, too. That’s okay, right?”

“Well, fuck, in that case, we may as well invite everyone,” Chan said. “I’ll send out some texts.”

Jisung sprang up. “I’ll invite Minho myself, if that’s okay?”

Chan smirked knowingly. “Okay, loverboy, you do that.”

Jisung grinned and took out his phone, quickly typing out a text to Minho. After sending the first, another thought occurred to him, so he sent another.

10월 12일, 8:59 오후  
찬이한테 와라, 파티 타임예요 (Come to Chan’s, it’s party time)  
봉을 가져와라 (Bring the bong)

Hyunjin leaned into his ear and whispered, “So, hey, should we tell Felix what Changbin told us the other day? Y’know, that he likes him? Or should we keep that under wraps?”

Jisung thought about that. “Eh, it would make it easier for them if we did, but it’s not really our place. I think we should keep quiet for now.”

Hyunjin nodded in agreement, zipping his lips shut. Jisung gave him a pointed look, not fully trusting he’d manage to keep quiet, especially when there were drugs involved. Just then, his phone buzzed, so he checked it to see Minho had replied.

10월 12일, 9:05 오후  
와ㅏㅏㅏ! (Waaaa!)  
곧 갈게 (Be there soon)

Jisung smiled at the screen. Minho was cute again. He’d been distracted, lately, by his sensual eyes and voice, by his kisses and touches and popsicle-eating, he’d almost forgotten how cute Minho normally was. Of course Minho wouldn’t let him forget for long, as cuteness oozed out of him like boiling water from an overfilled pot. 

Felix brought his bong, now full of water, to the coffee table, setting it down carefully for later use. He sat down beside Chan and clasped his hands together. “Hey, guys, did you know yesterday was National Coming-Out Day?”

“No, I didn’t,” Chan said, surprised. “Is that like, a day for queer people and their coming-out stories?”

Felix nodded. “Yeah, exactly. It’s nice hearing other people’s stories, y’know, how they came to terms with their sexuality themselves, and how they managed to tell their loved ones. It’s heartwarming, usually.”

“What’s your story, Lix?” Jisung asked.

Felix shrugged. “Nothing remarkable, really. I never, like, officially ‘came out’ to my friends, I never had to. I just dated both boys and girls and nobody really questioned it, so that’s nice enough. As for my parents, I told them when I was in high school. They were skeptical at first, assuming it could be a phase, but over time they accepted it. Honestly, they were way more upset about me leaving to study in America than hearing I was bi.”

“I’m happy for you,” Jisung said, with a smile. “It’s good you’ve always been accepted. That’s how things should be.”

Felix chuckled. “I haven’t always been accepted. I got bullied a fair amount in school. And my older sister used to bug me ‘cause I was better at getting guys than she was, said I was ‘taking all the good ones.’”

They laughed at that, the silliness of it—all except Hyunjin, who was strangely very quiet, staring down at his hands and fiddling with his thumbs. Jisung glanced at him curiously. He seemed tucked in on himself, smaller than usual, and even a little sad. 

“What’s wrong?” Jisung inquired. “Still upset you haven’t found your Prince Charming and your chance to come out?”

“No . . .” Hyunjin mumbled, in a tiny voice, shaking his head a little. He worried his bottom lip. “I just . . . I feel bad. I realize that you never got the chance to come out, because I told everyone before you could. I couldn’t keep my stupid, flappy mouth shut. Y’know, I took that from you, and that wasn’t right. I’m sorry, Jisung.”

Jisung put the back of his hand against Hyunjin’s forehead like he was checking his temperature. “You’re doing a lot of apologizing today, are you feeling alright?”

Hyunjin laughed a little and shook his hand away. “Call it a streak of ‘self-improvement.’ I guess I’ve just been thinkin’. I haven’t been the greatest friend to you lately.”

“Have you _ever_ been the greatest friend to me?” Jisung joked. Hyunjin looked hurt, so he pulled him in for a hug. “Kidding. I keep you around for a reason. I know you didn’t mean to tell everyone. And, hey, when I decide on a label for myself, that’ll be my official coming-out. I’ll tell you at the same time as everyone else so you can’t take it from me. So don’t worry about before, I’m not mad about it.”

Hyunjin nodded and gave a small smile. “Okay. Thanks, Jisung. And I really am sorry. I’ll try not to be such a blabbermouth from now on.”

“Jeez, you two, get a room, why don’tcha?” Chan teased.

“Ooh, Jisung’s cheating on Minho? So juicy!” Felix went along.

Hyunjin gave him mock heart-eyes. “Are you my Prince Charming?”

Jisung huffed, but before he could retaliate, the doorbell rang. Chan went to let the new arrivals in, and they were promptly joined by Changbin and Minho, who boogied their way in, Minho carrying his backpack and Changbin carrying paper bags. They sat on the floor in front of the coffee table and unloaded the bags, revealing two large bottles of liquor. 

Jisung’s eyes widened. “Oh, we’re drinking tonight?”

“Might as well, the whole gang’s coming, right?” Hyunjin said. “What’d you guys pick up?”

Minho turned the bottles around to read the labels. “Captain Morgan’s and Crown Royal, baby.”

Changbin nodded. Then, he turned to look at Jisung. “By the way, nice set of bruises you got there. Really suits you.”

Jisung curled into himself bashfully. “Aw, shucks.”

“We’re matching,” added Minho, tapping the side of his own neck. Then, he jumped a little, and stood up suddenly. “Oh, almost forgot.”

He came around the table to stand in front of Jisung, then bent over to give him a chaste kiss, which Jisung accepted with his brows raised in shock. “Hi,” Minho said sweetly, “how was work?”

Jisung sat still, stunned, for a moment, all eyes in the room pointed at them, nobody sure what to say, or if they even _should_ say anything. Minho went back to sit at his spot next to Changbin, and Jisung managed to mumble, “Uh . . . it was good. Boring, as usual.”

Minho gave him his squarish smile. “That’s good.”

So, not only had they progressed as far as good-bye kisses, but hello kisses, too. Also, going by what Minho had said—that he’d ‘almost forgot’—it was something he’d intended to do, either out of a feeling of obligation or purely because he wanted to. Or perhaps he only did it to generate shock amongst the group, or to annoy Hyunjin again. There was so much mystery, so much up in the air, and Jisung didn’t have a single grip on any of it.

“Ahem, _well_ , anyone want to go for a smoke?” Felix suggested, coughing away the awkward moment.

“I’m in,” Changbin and Minho said at the same time. 

“Me too,” Jisung joined in.

Three of them departed to the balcony while Minho went to the kitchen to fill up his bong. Felix brought Straya with him along with his grinder, and Changbin brought bud and a couple of lighters. By the time Minho rejoined them, Felix had ground up the bud and started filling up his bowl.

Minho tucked himself close to Jisung. “Do you want to share a hit, or do you want your own?”

“I’ll share one.” Jisung smiled shyly. He quite liked the idea of sharing a bowl with Minho, out of the bong that was ‘ _ours_.’

Minho reached over to pinch some of the weed from Felix’s grinder and fill up the bowl, packing it in tightly with his finger. Changbin passed him a lighter and he gave the first hit to Jisung, passing the bong over.

Felix ripped his own bowl and blew the cloud out with a dry cough. “Have you named yours yet?”

“No. I haven’t even hit ‘er yet, she hasn’t told me her name,” said Minho.

“I would call her ‘Blondie.’ She looks like a Blondie,” Felix murmured, his eyes already starting to droop.

Jisung blew out his cloud, then gave his bong an up-and-down look. “Yeah, I guess she does, but I dunno. Like Minho says, I think she’ll tell us her name. When she’s ready to.”

Minho took the bong from him. “Now you’re starting to get it.”

Changbin took his own toke from Felix’s bong, exhaling with a grimace. He grunted, “I need to get a bong again. Since I broke Chan’s expensive-as-shit glass I’ve been strapped for cash, but I’ve got a bit saved up now. But is it worth it to spend on weed stuff? I mean, all of you guys have pieces, anyway.”

Felix shrugged. “If you want it, get it. But you’re right, we all have them, so it’s not _that_ necessary, unless you want to smoke alone. But you don’t need a bong for that, I guess.”

They continued smoking until they were all sufficiently stoned, then traveled back into the house to find that Jeongin and Seungmin had arrived and were taking shots with Chan and Hyunjin. They joined them, placing the bongs on the table and sitting around the couch and the floor.

“Good, you’re here,” said Hyunjin, “we were gonna play ‘Truth or Drink.’ You in?”

Jisung ran a nervous hand through his hair. “Fuck, with the questions you people ask, I’m going to get _blasted_.”

“I’m an open book, bring it on,” Minho declared.

Hyunjin clapped excitedly. “Okay, to decide who’ll go first . . . who masturbated last?”

Jisung would’ve called that a personal attack, had it not been the way they decided the order of most everything, from the Czar in _Cards Against Humanity_ to who gets to use the video game controller. He wasn’t sure when they’d started this weird and invasive tradition, but it had stuck. In any case, it was either that or ‘who pooped last,’ which wasn’t any better.

“Two days ago, I think,” said Minho, “or whenever Chan’s party was.”

Jisung glanced at him. _That_ was certainly interesting to hear. There was no chance to think about it, though, because Hyunjin went on, “Last night.”

“Same for me,” said Changbin.

“I was yesterday morning,” said Felix.

“Sometime last week, I think,” said Chan.

Seungmin and Jeongin both admitted to three days prior, and then it was Jisung’s turn. He said, with red cheeks of shame, “This morning.”

“What? When?” Minho asked, giving him round, surprised eyes.

Jisung shrunk in on himself. “You went to the library.”

“Huh,” Minho hummed, mildly amused. 

“Well, that settles it. Jisung, you’re going first. Ask a question,” Hyunjin pressed, leaning forward expectantly. There was a glossiness in his eyes that said he was already fairly drunk.

Jisung looked around the group, thinking of who to attack first. He made his decision, and began, “Felix, truth or drink: What’s something you’ve always wanted to do in the bedroom, but never have?”

Felix didn’t even glance at the liquor, leaning back casually. “That’s easy. I’ve never used any toys. Been wanting to try some out, but I haven’t gotten the chance. Besides, sex toys are fuckin’ expensive.”

Hyunjin gave him a confused look. “Don’t ropes and blindfolds count as ‘toys’?”

“Not _really_ ,” Felix denied. “Anyway, I’m talking about, like, vibrators and stuff. Ropes are like child’s play.”

“Oh, _are_ they?” Hyunjin mused.

Felix ignored him, moving onto the next victim. “Chan, truth or drink: What’s your weirdest kink?”

Chan considered his options, then smirked, poured himself a shot, and drank it. The group whined in disappointment, begging him to tell, but he kept his mouth shut.

“Must be pretty weird, then,” Changbin teased him.

“It’s not. I just like being mysterious,” Chan said, with a wink.

Hyunjin pouted. “C’mon! Tell us!”

“Nope, can’t, already took my shot.” Chan shook his head, then looked evilly at Hyunjin. “Okay, buddy, truth or drink: Have you ever had a threesome?”

“Ha! Threesome? Try _four_ some,” Hyunjin announced, generating a chorus of shocked gasps. Then, he laughed. “No, I’m lying. I’ve never had a threesome. I’ve wanted to, though.”

Jisung stared at him. “Do you need me to explain the rules to you? It’s _Truth_ or Drink. No lying.”

“I told the truth!” Hyunjin defended himself. Then, he looked across the table. “Okay, Changbin, truth or drink: If you had to sleep with someone in this room, who would it be and why?”

Changbin touched his shot glass, thinking about it, then jiggled his shoulders. “Ah, fuck it. Felix. Because he’s hot.”

Felix glanced up, pointing wide eyes at Changbin, mouth hanging open a little bit. Jisung gave Hyunjin a pointed look and mouthed ‘Nice one,’ to which Hyunjin responded with a wink.

Changbin asked Jeongin a question about his wildest sexual fantasy, and Jeongin took a shot, refusing to answer. Jeongin then asked Seungmin if he’d ever cheated on a lover, and Seungmin replied “No.” Seungmin then looked at Minho with a wicked grin on his face.

“Minho, truth or drink,” he said, “have you ever sent nudes?”

Minho snorted noisily, his expression incredulous. “Uh, yeah, of course I have. And I take _good_ ones, too, not like you straight boys with your sausage snaps. I take sexy ones. I make sure the lighting is right, I pose . . .”

“Okay, okay, TMI,” Seungmin stopped him. 

Minho chortled, smirking. Then he set his eyes on Jisung. “Alright, truth or drink: What was the best blowjob you ever had?”

Jisung had to think about that. He looked at the ceiling, combing his memory, until it hit him. “Oh, I think it was this one girl I met at a party. She _definitely_ knew what she was doing, made me come in like, five minutes. And I haven’t finished that fast since high school.”

“Five minutes, huh? Weak,” Minho muttered.

“The fuck do you mean, ‘weak’?” Jisung snapped back.

Minho shrugged nonchalantly. “I could do it in three.”

Jisung was about to rebuke, until the words hit him, sinking into his skin and chilling his bones. He had no words, anything he thought about saying dissolving as he remembered the popsicle, how Minho had sucked it, licked it, and how that technique could easily apply in other scenarios. He realized that Minho was probably _right_ , he probably _could_ make Jisung come undone embarrassingly fast, and at that realization Jisung had to will his dick not to get hard. It worked, barely.

“Well, I’m certainly not drunk enough,” Chan said, taking another shot. The game supposedly ended, they turned instead to the TV, Felix putting on an episode of _Big Mouth_. Minho, who was sitting on the floor, scooched over to sit against the couch, between Jisung’s legs, leaning his head back. While they watched and drank together, Jisung got progressively more far-gone, and at some point he started playing absently with Minho’s hair, which he seemed to enjoy.

They watched several episodes, until it was past midnight and both liquor bottles were running on empty. After that, they started to gradually filter out, all except for Felix, who decided to sleep over at Chan’s. Jisung and Minho stumbled their way home, walking on drunken and unsteady feet, laughing stupidly each time one of them tripped, leaning into each other’s arms to keep from falling over. It was a long trip up the stairs to their suite, but once they got inside, they collapsed together on the couch, still giggling.

“So, tell me, I’ve been wondering,” Minho began, then hiccuped. “Why did you jack off when I went to the library? Was it, like, you got a moment to yourself, so you decided to watch porn?”

Jisung snickered at the very prospect of that. “No, you freak, that’d be so weird. I didn’t watch porn. It just sorta . . . happened, I guess.”

“It doesn’t just ‘happen,’” Minho insisted, snorting. “And don’t call _me_ a freak when _you’re_ the one that jacked off when I was gone for fifteen fuckin’ minutes. I mean, what the Hell even made you horny?”

Jisung chewed his lip, and chuckled to himself. Being drunk certainly made him feel far less ashamed. “Well, it was . . . it was . . .”

“What?” Minho pushed, poking him in the arm. “It was what?”

Jisung looked at him awkwardly. “You . . . You ate that popsicle, so . . .”

“What? Why would me eating a—” Minho went to say, then stopped in his tracks, his expression of confusion turning to one of sly realization. “Ah. I see. Wait, so, were you thinkin’ of—?”

Jisung hid his face, which was absolutely red by now, in his hands. “I wish I had an excuse, or an explanation, but I don’t. So, there it is.”

Minho smirked. “So, then, were you, y’know, thinking about me? When you were jacking off?”

“I . . . I’m embarrassed, can I go to sleep?” Jisung mumbled.

“No, no, no, I want to hear this,” Minho demanded, his grin getting wider. “Were you thinkin’ of me? Imagining the popsicle was somethin’ else? Huh? Were you?”

He was definitely being teased, now, and his embarrassment only grew, even though it was possible Minho wouldn’t remember any of this tomorrow. He got up from the couch and headed for the hallway, escaping the situation. “I’m going to sleep. G’night.”

Minho laughed after him. “Good night.”


	11. Starry Eyed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> This chapter took a little longer to write as I took a short break due to some mental health issues, but I hope you all didn't wait too long. I managed to finish most of this in one night, so I really hope you enjoy it! This story is gaining in numbers fast, and I'm truly shocked and happy that you're enjoying my work. I really spend a lot of time on this story and reading your comments makes it all worth it! Please let me know what you think of this chapter :)
> 
> Small warning that things get heated in this chapter! Things have been mostly fluffy up until now, but there will be a *lot* of smut in this story from here on out! But, you all saw the 'E' rating, you knew this was coming eventually ;)
> 
> As per usual, make sure to follow me on Twitter (@/reineard) for sneak peeks and news about new updates! Also, check out the "Molasses in the Sky" playlists on Spotify and YouTube! Links to both playlists can be found in my pinned thread on Twitter :)
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "Starry Eyed" by Ellie Goulding!
> 
> Happy reading~

_Next thing, we’re touching,_   
_You look at me, it’s like you hit me with lightning._

It had been a little over a week since Minho’s popsicle-eating fiasco, and Jisung had yet to hear the end of it. He had faced near-relentless teasing from his roommate, which he was far less aptly-equipped to deal with while sober. Minho had also continued eating popsicles—one a day, sometimes two—and had upped the ante to a point it was definitely performative, his sucking louder and his licking sloppier, and he even went so far as to gag occasionally. Jisung had to desperately pretend he wasn’t bothered by it, ignoring his antics and keeping a straight face, all to avoid being made fun of even more. Of course, it _did_ bother him, very much, and—unbeknownst to Minho—he’d jacked off more times in the last ten days than he had in his entire existence of twenty years.

Jisung woke up on a dull mid-week morning, the skies outside his window grey, rain pattering against the glass, creating a gentle and relaxing melody. He stirred in place, half-awake, lifting up his ankle so he could scratch an itch there. With every movement of his body, he could feel a shape shift around in his pants, but he wasn’t at all surprised by it. Morning wood had turned into a daily occurrence, as recognizable to him as his alarm sound. He’d long since learned to ignore it.

He rolled himself out of bed and sleepily checked his phone to see there was a text from Chan. Rubbing his eyes, he opened the message.

10월 22일, 10:43 오전  
정오에 와라 (Come over at noon)  
노래 작업을 해야죠 (We need to work on the song)

Jisung nodded to himself as though Chan could see him. He walked to his dresser and put on a white graphic t-shirt and slim black jeans, and as he didn’t feel like putting contacts in, he fit his glasses over his nose. He left his room and found the house empty, which was definitely strange—he seldom ever woke up before Minho. Then again, it _had_ been happening a lot as of late. Realizing that gave him a small sense of worry. Perhaps Minho hadn’t been sleeping properly, and had started waking up later as a result. 

As he walked down the hallway toward Minho’s room, Soonie started following after him, mumbling something in cat-language. This time he knew it was Soonie, as he’d gotten the hang of telling the three cats apart, and he knew her to be more orange than Doongie. He found Dori sitting calmly in front of Minho’s bedroom door with her tail tucked over her paws, and she looked up at him with round eyes, and, finding he couldn’t resist, he took a moment to kneel down and pat her on the head, generating a rumble of purrs from her chest.

He opened Minho’s door, and both Soonie and Dori ran in making noise. Minho was curled up in his bedsheets, tucked in warmly, snoring quietly into his pillow. Jisung smiled to himself and sat at the end of his bed. He found a foot sticking out from the covers, so he grabbed the big toe and wiggled it around, then tickled it, until the foot shook him off and Minho made an annoyed noise. Jisung giggled and tickled him more, at which point Minho took his foot away and hid it beneath the covers.

Jisung wouldn’t give up so easily. He crawled over Minho’s body and inclined his head to breathe hot air into his ear, making him screw up his face but still failing to wake him. So Jisung brought out the big guns, slathering his index finger in spit and sticking it into Minho’s ear, grinning evilly to himself. Minho stirred, mumbling incoherently into the blankets, bringing a hand out from beneath them to rub the side of his face as though he wasn’t entirely sure where the disturbance was located. Jisung giggled, blowing more air into his ear, tickling his chin, his laughter making Minho’s whole body jiggle. 

Finally, Minho blinked open his eyes and looked at Jisung, deliriously smiling. “Good morning, you.”

“Get up, we’re going to Chan’s to work on the project,” said Jisung, flicking his nose. He stood up, walking toward the hallway.

“Where do you think you’re going?” demanded Minho, sitting up in bed with a pout. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Jisung spun on his heels. “What?”

Minho pursed his lips and held out his arms, grabbing the air. “Kiss?”

Jisung rolled his eyes and smirked. Minho was cute again. He crossed the room again and bent down to Minho’s level, planting a gentle kiss on his pouty lips, and Minho made a soft, pleased noise. As he straightened up and went to turn away again, his arm was grabbed and he was tugged onto the bed, and in one swift motion, Minho was above him, kissing him again, harder, hotter, pinning both arms to the pillows. It was dizzying how quickly Minho had gone from cute to sexy, as he looked down at Jisung with dark eyes, grinning with his tongue trapped between his teeth. Jisung’s morning wood had not yet gone away, and this was _not_ helping.

Minho dragged an arm up Jisung’s thigh to grasp the prominent bulge in the front of his jeans. “You thought I wouldn’t notice this?”

Jisung chuckled nervously. “It was just . . . like that, when I woke up. It’ll go away.”

“Want me to help?” Minho whispered.

Jisung’s dick twitched at the thought, but it was already past eleven. “We don’t have time, we have to be at Chan’s by noon.”

Minho palmed the front of his jeans, making Jisung quiver. “Three minutes, remember?”

It was a very enticing offer. Jisung hadn’t expected the morning to go this way, as Minho had never jumped him like this, had never asked for it like this, and Jisung wondered if he, too, had been feening for it, letting it build up for weeks, culminating in a final snap. Still, as much as his body begged for it, Jisung had reservations. Taking that step with Minho would be like jumping off a cliff, their relationship would never be the same again, and he didn’t know if he was ready for that yet. It was strange for him to feel this way, as he’d never hesitated before when it came to sex, but perhaps that was why he wanted to take it slow now. Or, maybe he just wanted to tease Minho more, or himself. 

“I don’t want it to be over in three minutes. If you’re going to blow me, I want to feel it. I want it to _last_ ,” he said, running a finger down Minho’s jaw. “Which means we don’t have time, so get dressed.”

Minho looked disappointed, but he released him, letting Jisung get up and walk toward the door. He went out into the living room, sitting down on the couch and sending Chan a reply.

10월 22일, 11:12 오전  
곧 올 거예요 (Coming soon)

Minho emerged from his room, wearing an oversized black-and-white striped button-up and black jeans, as well as a black beanie covering his hair. He definitely seemed to like wearing baggy clothes, and Jisung loved it, loved his sweater paws and how tiny he looked in big shirts. Minho didn’t come to sit down, he stood at the entrance of the hallway, looking, disgruntled, at his feet.

In a small voice, he asked, “Did I . . . come on too strong?”

Jisung looked at him, perplexed. “Huh?”

Minho played with his fingers, still looking down. “I just . . . I know you haven’t been with a guy before, so, I guess, I’m worried I’ve frightened you, or something. Maybe you don’t really want to—”

Jisung stood up quickly, crossing the room to stand in front of him and taking him by the hands. “Don’t finish that sentence. You didn’t scare me. I meant what I said, that I want it to last. Believe me, if we weren’t going to Chan’s, I would’ve taken that offer in a heartbeat.”

Minho smiled shyly. “I’m just worried, y’know. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, especially since you’re probably already uncomfortable, seeing as you’ve only ever been with women . . .”

“I’m not uncomfortable. At all,” Jisung assured him. When Minho didn’t seem convinced, he added, “How many times do I need to kiss you for you to believe me?”

He squeezed Minho’s face so his lips jutted out, and placed a lasting kiss there, pulling away a few centimeters and looking him in the eyes. Minho did his squarish smile and said, “Mm, a few more.”

So Jisung wrapped both arms around Minho’s midsection and gripped him in a bear hug, kissing his lips again, and again, and again, then moving on to kiss both cheeks, then his forehead, his nose, and all over his face until Minho was swatting him away in a fit of giggles.

“Okay, okay, enough,” Minho pleaded, both hands on Jisung’s chest.

Jisung made a sad face. “One more?”

Minho complied, curling his arms around Jisung’s neck and pulling him in for one more lingering kiss, the swaying back-and-forth kind that felt warm all over and neither wanted to pull away from. When Minho tried to, Jisung didn’t let him, jerking forward to capture his lips again, kissing him deeply, then finishing off with a series of small pecks. 

“Satisfied?” Minho asked, chuckling.

“Yes,” Jisung breathed. “Let’s get food on the way to Chan’s.”

They walked to the foyer to put shoes on, both of them black runners, though while Jisung wore Converse, Minho sported Vans. They left the apartment and made for the nearest McDonald’s, ordering Egg McMuffins and coffees to go. Minho carried the bag with him as they made their way to Chan’s, digging inside it and pulling out a hashbrown, which he fed to Jisung. They reached the apartment building, Chan buzzing them in, and they took the elevator up to his suite. Felix and Changbin were already there even though they had arrived early, which meant there were only waiting for Hyunjin. It was certainly typical of him to be late. 

“Ooh, y’all got Macca’s?” Felix commented as they entered. “Let me get a peek. Anything for me?”

Minho clutched the bag close to him, like a mother protecting her child. “Nope, none for you. This is our breakfast.”

Felix pouted. “I haven’t had breakfast. I’m _hungry_.”

Chan got up from the couch. “What do you want? I’ll make you something.”

“Eggs, please! And toast!” Felix requested happily. Chan gave him a thumbs-up and departed to the kitchen.

Changbin was sitting bent over his notebook, scribbling down either notes or lyrics, his eyebrows knitted in concentration. Jisung sat next to him and peeked over curiously. The words Changbin wrote were angry and despairing, so he figured they must be lyrics, otherwise he’d be quite worried. Minho sat beside him and put the McDonald’s bag in his lap, taking out his own McMuffin and bringing it to his mouth to eat. 

Chan returned from the kitchen minutes later with a plate of food for Felix. It was two pieces of toast with holes in them, the eggs fried inside the holes. The dish was foreign to Jisung, so he gazed at it curiously, while Felix seemed to recognize it and jumped giddily in place.

“You made frog-in-a-hole? How did you know I loved this?” Felix asked, eyes sparkling and a wide smile on his face.

Chan shrugged. “You told me your mom used to make it for you. I thought it’d be nostalgic.”

Felix pressed a hand to his chest like he was touched, his eyebrows turning up and the corners of his mouth turning down like he might cry. Just as Chan was about to sit down, the doorbell rang, so he stood straight again and went to answer it. Hyunjin entered the apartment moments later, wearing black cargo pants and a large black hoodie, a tall beanie on his head and his skateboard and vape in his hand. He kicked his shoes off and sat next to Changbin, opposite Jisung.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” said Hyunjin. “Y’all need to finish this song quickly, like by November, so we can start choreographing the dance. Especially if you guys plan on dancing _with_ us, you’ll need lots of practice time.”

Jisung gave him a displeased squint. “Hey, just ‘cause we’re not dance majors doesn’t mean we’re bad. Any choreography you can make, we can do.”

Hyunjin smirked. “Okay, then, since you’re so sure, we’ll make it really hard.”

“Eh, have a little mercy, maybe?” Jisung backpedaled. 

Chan interrupted them. “Alright, well, before we talk about the choreography, let’s all come to an agreement on the nature of the song itself. I was talking with Changbin earlier, and we thought the song could be about despair, sadness, or even anger. Like, the feeling of being lost. Emotional songs always capture an audience, so if we want to win, it would be in our interest to do something heartfelt and relatable.”

“Win? It’s not a competition, Chan, it’s just for a grade,” said Felix.

“Everything is a competition. _Life_ is a competition. Getting the best grade means we win,” insisted Chan.

Hyunjin scoffed. “Don’t argue with an athlete about competition, Lix, it’s a lost cause.”

Jisung was deep in thought, his hand clasping his chin. He thought about the words Chan had said—despair, sadness, anger—and about the lyrics he’d seen Changbin writing. He sat up and said, “Well, if we’re going for a theme of anguish and hopelessness, we could center the words around the feeling of falling, or going down with no control over it. Like, as if we’re on an elevator to Hell. A ‘Hellevator,’ if you will.”

Changbin snapped his fingers and pointed at him. “That’s good! ‘Hellevator,’ I like that. Sounds like a title to me.”

He scribbled the word down on his paper. Chan went on, “I’ve also e-mailed our teacher asking if it’d be possible for Seungmin and Jeongin to perform with us. It’s a long shot, since they’re not in the same class, but we’ll see what she says. I’d hate to do it without them.”

Minho nodded. “It’d be nice if the eight of us could do it together. It’d be a smash hit, then. Also, even if we don’t have a song, yet, just knowing the nature of it could help us come up with some potential moves.”

Felix agreed, “Yeah. We should meet up in the studio later to work on that.”

“So, the plan for right now is this,” Chan began, “Jisung, Changbin, and I will all write up some possible lyrics as our homework. Then, we’ll combine our forces to create the best song, then make a beat and fine-tune it. Meanwhile, the dancers can start thinking of potential choreography. Everyone clear?”

Hyunjin saluted and said, in English, “Yes, Leader Bang.”

“Leader? I’m the leader?” Chan asked, puzzled.

“I couldn’t think of a better one than you,” said Felix, with a grin.

Everyone seemed to agree, so Chan shrugged, relenting, “Okay, then. I’m the leader. Does this mean you all have to listen to me?”

“Well, we don’t _have_ to, but we’ll probably want to. You’re the smart one when it comes to group projects,” Jisung complimented. “Remember the disaster that ensued when we let Changbin lead us for that one PowerPoint presentation?”

“Oh, God,” Chan groaned, “how could I forget?”

Changbin pouted. “Hey! I tried my best!”

Jisung pat him on the back. “Yes, yes, I know you did. But you were horrible.”

“At least I’m a better rapper than you,” Changbin spat.

“Oh, you want a fight?” Jisung threatened him, holding up a fist.

Hyunjin was loving it. “Rap battle, go!”

Jisung hung his head. “No, I’ll lose.”

Changbin smirked smugly at that. They all got to work, the dancers talking amongst themselves while the other discussed lyrics, both the ones Changbin had already written and possible new ones. After a while, Minho got up to use the bathroom, at which point Hyunjin scooched over to Jisung and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Hey, so I’ve been hearing some stuff,” he began, checking behind him to ensure Minho was out of earshot. “Stuff about your boyfriend.”

“He’s not—” Jisung started, then cut himself off, deciding there was no point. “What stuff?”

“Well, y’know, before he was with Jamie, he used to sleep around a lot, like you,” Hyunjin murmured, and Jisung chose not to take offense to the ‘like you’ he’d tacked on at the end. “So he’s been with several guys around campus, and y’know, guys talk. So I’ve been listening, and I’ve heard some stuff.”

Jisung raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “Are we gossiping about Minho’s sex-capades, now?”

“Are you saying you don’t want to know? I won’t tell you if that’s the case, but if you’re curious, I’ve got the info,” said Hyunjin, suggestively.

Jisung glanced over his shoulder, double-checking Minho had not returned. He thought it a little seedy to be discussing his intimate details behind his back like this, but he _was_ curious, and it burned within him so much he just _had_ to know. So, he leaned closer to Hyunjin and asked, “Alright. What’ve you got for me?”

Hyunjin grinned excitedly. Jisung knew he loved gossip. “Okay, so, for short, I’ve heard he’s a _monster_ in bed. Like, I keep hearing ‘he rocked my world’-type shit. He definitely leaves an impression on those he’s been with.”

“Oh, you’ve been ‘hearing’ this, have you?” Jisung asked sarcastically. “You sure you haven’t actually been sleuthing around and asking people?”

Hyunjin shrugged innocently. “ _Okay_ , maybe I was asking certain reputable sources, but does that make my information any less legit? No, it doesn’t.”

Jisung giggled. “The thought of you going around and asking what it’s like to have sex with Minho is _hilarious_. Oh, the nerve you have.”

“Anything for you.” Hyunjin smiled venomously.

“I mean, I never asked,” Jisung reminded him. “Anyway, here’s what I really want to know. Remember at that party when we met some of Olivia’s friends? And remember what that girl, Jasmine, said?”

Hyunjin looked up, deep in thought, then shook his head. “I remember meeting them, but I don’t remember anything she said. What was it?”

“She said . . .” Jisung stalled. He felt awkward bringing this sort of thing up, and regretted doing it, but there was no going back. He looked behind himself again. Minho was, apparently, still in the washroom. He lowered his voice and went on, “She said that . . . uh, she heard that Minho has, uh, a big . . . you know. Is that true?”

Hyunjin made an intrigued face. “I don’t remember anyone telling me that specifically. I mean, we joke about it, but I’ve never actually taken a good look at his ‘manhood,’ and I’ve certainly never seen him hard, so I don’t _really_ know what his situation is. I feel like, out of the two of us, _you_ would know the answer to that.”

Jisung thought about that. Minho _had_ been hard in front of him a number of times now. He’d felt it, he’d seen it, including that very morning, pressed against him and twitching against his own, and it definitely _seemed_ like it was on the bigger side. Still, he couldn’t be sure. “I don’t know, really. It’s hard to tell through multiple layers of fabric. I guess I’ll find out, eventually.”

“I’ve seen you naked before, and you’re not bad yourself,” said Hyunjin, “so if he’s bigger than you, then _whoo_. You might be in trouble.”

Jisung was about to retort, but at that moment, Minho returned, sitting back beside Felix. Hyunjin, totally inconspicuously, slid back over to them as though he hadn’t just been theorizing about Minho’s ‘between-me-down-there’ with Jisung. Minho seemed none the wiser, though, as he got right back into dance-related conversation. They worked well into the late afternoon, taking occasional breaks to eat snacks and joke around, and once they’d tuckered out, they watched stupid YouTube videos until the sun had begun to set.

***

Later that night, Jisung and Minho regrouped at home to change, Hyunjin coming in with them because he was their ride. They had made plans with the whole group to go to a bar together—not for any particular reason, or if anything, to start the weekend off right. Jisung kept the same outfit on and simply put a leather jacket over top, hanging orange-lensed sunglasses on the collar of his shirt and, because he didn’t trust himself not to lose his glasses if he got drunk, he put his contacts in. Minho changed into a black sweater with white-striped sleeves, tucking it into the same jeans he was already wearing, and he took his beanie off and styled his hair. 

Once they were ready, they collected Hyunjin off their couch and headed down to his car. Felix and Changbin would be driving there with Chan, while Seungmin and Jeongin would be getting there by bus. They were headed to a bar called _Elysium Brewing Company_ , a spot Jisung had heard good things about but had never been to. It was in the heart of downtown Los Angeles, which was loud and busy even on a Thursday night, and when they got there the bar was so full they were lucky to find a table. Changbin and Felix entered shortly after them, citing that Chan was paying for parking, after which he joined them at the table followed by Seungmin and Jeongin.

“So,” Chan headed the conversation, “Hyunjin, any luck with that girl, what was her name . . . Olivia, yet?”

Hyunjin shrugged. “Not really? I mean, I found out that the guy she’s been talking to, Trevor, is actually her cousin. So I guess that’s good for me?”

“Well, you never know with white people,” said Felix, with raised eyebrows.

“She’s Chinese,” Hyunjin told him.

“Oh. Really? She didn’t look Chinese, when I met her,” Felix mumbled. “I guess it was dark.”

Hyunjin went on, “Actually, she’s half-white. Olivia Reynolds-Zhao. Her dad’s white, that’s why her cousin is, too. He’s her cousin on her dad’s side.”

Felix nodded knowingly. “Ah. Then my point still stands.”

“You’re weird,” said Hyunjin, with a disgusted face.

Changbin cleared his throat. “Though I hate to interrupt this _incredibly_ invigorating discussion, I do have something to tell you all. I mean, some of you know already, but I should fill the rest of you in, too.”

Jisung had an idea where he was going, so he invited him to continue. Changbin swallowed thickly and, once he had the table’s attention, he announced, “So, basically . . . I’m gay. That’s, uh, kinda it. I just thought, um, it’s high time you all knew. So, yeah.”

Seungmin and Jeongin clapped enthusiastically for him, while Felix’s jaw dropped almost to the floor, and he forced himself to close it, though his eyes were still blown wide. Chan, Hyunjin, and Jisung, who already knew, simply nodded approvingly, Chan patting him on the shoulder. 

Minho gave a few claps and said, “For that, I’ll buy you a drink. Welcome to the Cool Kid’s Club, finally there’s another member besides Felix.”

“What about me?” Jisung complained, tilting his head up.

Minho squinted at him. “I’m not too sure about you, yet.”

“And me? I like men, too,” Chan spoke up.

Minho looked, shocked, at him. “You _do_?”

“Uh, yeah? You didn’t know that?” Chan asked dumbly. “I mean, technically, I’m pansexual. I like who I like, regardless of their gender. But that does include men. I’m _sure_ I’ve mentioned it before.”

“I don’t think you have. Not to me, anyway,” Minho denied.

“He’s told me,” mumbled Felix.

“And me,” added Jisung, “but he really doesn’t talk about his sex life all that much, so it makes sense not everyone knew.”

Hyunjin laughed. “That ‘cause he doesn’t really _have_ a sex life.”

“Hey, watch your mouth,” Chan warned him. “At least _I_ don’t have a hopeless, unrequited crush. The people I’ve liked, I’ve fucked. Can you say the same?”

Hyunjin grumbled, “That’s just because _everyone_ wants to fuck you, and you’ll fuck anyone. It’s easy for you.”

“Sorry, not sorry,” Chan sang.

The waitress came around, and they each ordered a cocktail, which she wrote down on her notepad once she’d checked all their ID’s. She left with their orders, and Jisung noticed Hyunjin staring toward the bar, with an expression like he was trying to see if he recognized someone. 

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Jisung asked him.

“Some girl over by the bar keeps glancing our way, but I can’t tell who she’s lookin’ at,” Hyunjin informed him.

“Better not be this one,” said Minho, putting both hands on Jisung’s shoulders, “this one’s mine.”

“No worries,” Jisung replied, smiling. He then leaned over to give Minho a short kiss, at which Hyunjin audibly gagged.

Changbin followed Hyunjin’s gaze. “I think she’s looking at Chan?”

Chan looked up, in the same direction as them. “Oh. Yep, she just smiled at me.”

“Ayy,” Hyunjin celebrated, “go on, Channie, get _sum_.”

“Nah. I’m too fuckin’ tired these days. When I get home, I’m going right to sleep,” said Chan. “My body’s got no fucks left to give, in every sense of the word.”

The waitress returned with their drinks, passing them out before leaving again. Hyunjin took a sip from his, then asked, “Aren’t you backed up?”

“I’m just fine, thank you,” Chan insisted, “I’ve still got both my hands.”

Hyunjin seemed unconvinced. “Sure, sure. But once you’ve had pussy, your hand just does _not_ compare. It’s been a while for me, too, and I’m kinda goin’ crazy, so I truly cannot imagine how you’re feeling.”

“Have _any_ of us really gotten any, lately?” Felix wondered. “I feel like all our sex lives have been fairly uneventful, recently. I mean, since things fell through with Callum, I’ve been, er, looking to new prospects. But no fruit has yet been reaped.”

Hyunjin cast an accusatory glance in Jisung and Minho’s direction, his eyebrow cocked. Jisung looked back at him and scoffed, “What’re you looking at _me_ for? You know we haven’t fucked yet.”

“Oh, _yet_?” Minho chimed, looking at him with a smirk. Jisung winked at him.

Hyunjin sighed. “Yeah, I guess we’ve all been unlucky these days. I’m still chasing tail that I’m not likely to get, you two are taking your sweet time, and as Chan said, he’s too tired. What about you three?”

“I haven’t been ‘up to’ anything,” Changbin said. “I’ve also got my eyes set on someone, but uh, nothing’s come of it yet.”

“I’ve got no stories to tell,” Seungmin commented dejectedly.

“Me neither,” Jeongin said.

Hyunjin hummed. “Huh. Fall and winter are definitely slow seasons for hooking up.”

“Oh, for sure,” Jisung agreed, “I can attest to that. In the summertime, I could go home with someone almost every night, but in the winter it was more like three or four times a week.”

“That’s . . . still a _lot_ ,” Minho muttered.

“Well, good news is, Halloween is coming up,” Hyunjin mentioned. “That means hella parties, and girls in skimpy costumes lookin’ for a spooky hook-up. And after that is Christmas, which is a very romantic time of year, ‘cause no one wants to be alone for Christmas.”

Jisung startled. “Oh, shit, I haven’t even thought about what to be for Halloween. Any ideas, guys?”

“I’m going as a vampire,” said Chan.

“ _Again_?” Changbin inquired exasperatedly.

“What do you mean ‘again’? I was a werewolf last year,” Chan defended.

Hyunjin put his elbows on the table. “I was thinking of going as a police officer, but like, the stripper-looking type. Y’know, sleeveless uniform, the classic policeman hat, a pair of handcuffs on one wrist, the works.”

“I was gonna be a classic spy,” said Changbin, “very James Bond-like, suit-and-tie, whiskey glass.”

Felix grinned. “I already have my costume. I’m going to be a mad scientist.”

“I’m probably going as a zombie dog,” Seungmin related.

“I’m gonna be a ghost,” Jeongin piped up, “like, the basic kind, just a white sheet with eyeholes.”

Minho smirked. “I was planning on being something slutty, like a Playboy Bunny. So, if you’re looking for costume ideas, I could do that and you could be Hugh Hefner.”

“. . . _What_?” Jisung asked, appalled.

“You know. Hugh Hefner. That old guy? Founder of _Playboy_?” Minho explained. “It’d be easy, you just need a red robe and black pants. You’d be Hefner and I’d be your bunny.”

The table was quiet. Jisung stared at Minho, unsure if he really knew exactly what he was saying. He was going to be a _Playboy Bunny_? Jisung tried, and failed, not to imagine that—Minho, in a little black bodysuit with tights, with the bow-tie and the bunny ears and the fluffy tail. It was an extremely appealing image, and Jisung had to subtly push down on his crotch so his half-erection wouldn’t show.

Minho shrugged lightly. “Well, let me know. If you want we can do that.”

They continued drinking and chatting, Hyunjin, Chan, and Felix ordering a few more drinks for themselves while the rest of them stuck with the one. As the night progressed, Hyunjin drank the most, and once he was two cocktails and a half-pint of beer in, he looked across the table with glossy eyes and a crooked smile.

“So, I have a question for the gays of the table,” Hyunjin began, slurring his words slightly. “There’s what, four or five non-straights among us, now? I’ve always wondered this, so please answer honestly. Do you prefer giving or receiving head?”

“Receiving,” Changbin answered quickly, “I’m not very good at giving.”

“Giving,” Felix answered after him, “I _am_ good at it.”

Chan thought for a moment. “Meh, I like both, I guess. Yeah, both are good.”

Minho tapped his chin. “It’s hard to say. Like Chan said, both are good.”

Hyunjin made an incredulous noise. “Really? How can they be equally satisfying? I mean, in one case you get pleasure, in the other you don’t. I think Changbin is the only sane one of you.”

“Think of it this way,” Minho argued, leaning forward, “don’t you enjoy eating a girl out? Y’know, making her shake and moan for you? Giving someone else pleasure is pleasurable in itself.”

Hyunjin nodded slowly. “Hmm. I guess you have a point.”

“But anyway, as for me,” Minho continued, “I do like both, but it depends on the person, so I can’t really say which I like _more_.”

“Okay, well, what if we say it’s, I dunno, Jisung?” Hyunjin pressed. “If you could only choose _one_ , either blowing him or getting blown by him, which would you pick?”

Jisung sputtered, shocked to have been suddenly shoved in the middle of this conversation. Minho hummed, thinking, looking Jisung up and down, until he finally said, “I’d blow him.”

“Really?” Hyunjin commented, eyes wide. “Any particular reason?”

Minho chuckled. “Mostly ‘cause I don’t think he’d be any good at it.”

Jisung looked at him, ticked. “Is that a challenge?”

“Yes,” Minho replied honestly.

Jisung hummed, taking a mental note of that but saying nothing further. They stayed at the bar for about an hour longer, most of the conversation being led by the drunken Hyunjin, who was a combination of dumb and dumber. Eventually, Chan grew tired and decided he’d best head home, so Changbin and Felix went with him to catch a ride. After ensuring Seungmin and Jeongin would be okay making it back by bus, he left with Minho and Hyunjin, dumping Hyunjin in the back of his own car and driving him home. They helped him inside his apartment and left his car parked out front, then made the walk the rest of the way.

They made it back home shortly before one o’clock in the morning, both of them mostly sober due to only having one drink each, so the walk up the stairs was not as difficult as usual. They walked in the front door and kicked off their shoes, and before Jisung could take even one step into the living room, Minho pulled him in for a lingering kiss.

“Mm, what’s this?” Jisung asked when their lips parted.

“I missed doing that,” Minho admitted. “I can’t kiss you as often in front of the others. I don’t want to gross Hyunjin out _too_ much.”

Jisung chuckled and gave him another short kiss. Then, he asked, in a low voice, “Are you really going as a Playboy Bunny for Halloween?”

“Only if you’ll be my Hefner,” Minho answered, giggling. “Why? Would you like to see me as a Bunny?”

Jisung bit his lip, then grabbed Minho by the hips and squeezed, tugging him forward. “I think I would. What would the costume look like?”

“Well, I haven’t bought it yet,” Minho murmured. “But I think it’d look exactly how you’d imagine it to. Either a bodysuit or shorts, tights, a fluffy tail, bow-tie, and bunny ears. Do you like that?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Jisung huffed. He grabbed two fistfuls of Minho’s butt, making him inhale sharply. “I can imagine your little ass in a bodysuit. Fuck, that’s hot.”

Minho breathed a small laugh, tilting his head and bringing his mouth close to Jisung’s. “Yeah? You getting hard just thinking about it?”

He _was_ getting hard just thinking about it. With Minho pressed close to him, talking in hushed tones, and the imagery he was giving him, it had his pants getting really tight really fast. Minho knew it, too, with the way he ran his hands slowly down Jisung’s front and hooked his fingers in his belt loops, gazing into his eyes through his lashes, his mouth just slightly ajar, enough that Jisung could taste his hot air. 

“Yeah, you’re riling me up,” Jisung breathed.

“I can see that,” Minho said, pushing his tongue through his grin and latching onto the bulge in Jisung’s jeans, pressing his hand into it ever-so-slightly. He brought his lips to Jisung’s ear and whispered, “Are you gonna let me suck your dick this time?”

Jisung panted involuntarily. He wanted it more than he ever had before, quivering in Minho’s grasp, completely at his mercy. There was absolutely no way he could say ‘no’ this time. Through his teeth, he gasped, “ _Please_.”

“Yeah?” Minho smirked, his lips brushing against Jisung’s. “Want it to last? Want me to tease you? Or shall I prove I can do it in three minutes?”

Jisung shook his head. “Make it last. God, I want to feel it.”

Minho kissed him passionately, pressing his back against the wall of the foyer, digging his palm into the front of his jeans. He let Jisung taste his tongue, and his soft lips, raiding Jisung’s mouth, as though showing him what’s to come. Jisung was squeezing his ass, his hips, his waist, everywhere his hands would reach; he wanted to touch everywhere, feel everything, grasp every inch of Minho’s flesh in his hands. He savored it, every touch, every push, every kiss, drinking all of it in like it was all too much and not enough. Minho was desperate, too, Jisung could feel it in his heartbeat and the moans he left on his lips, in the way he pressed his ass into Jisung’s hands, in the way he was both domineering and oh, so malleable. 

Just when Jisung thought he would overdose on the sensation, Minho disappeared, pulling out of the kiss and slipping out of his hands, his palm over Jisung’s bulge the only thing that remained. Jisung opened his eyes, searched for him, looking down to find him kneeling on the floor with his thighs spread, gazing up at him with his eclipsed eyes, and Jisung felt his head spin and his breathing shudder. Minho loosened his grip, moving both hands up to undo his belt, tantalizingly slowly, nimble fingers unbuckling it like he was unwrapping a present. Jisung watched him, unable to take his eyes away and unsure what to do with his hands, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Minho undid the button and zipper of his jeans with his teeth, never once breaking eye contact, both his hands gripping Jisung’s thighs. 

With his jeans open, it felt far less cramped, and the sudden rush of relief made his eyes roll back and his head bump against the wall. When he looked back down, Minho had his tongue sticking out eagerly, as he slowly slid one hand up Jisung’s thigh and slipped past his top layer, rubbing him from base to tip over his underwear, and Jisung felt his knees start to go weak. He brought up a hand to run it through Minho’s soft hair, feeling each strand slip through his fingers, touching his curls, almost using it as a way to distract himself. It was impossible to ignore, though, when Minho reached into the hole in his briefs and curled warm fingers around his shaft, pulling it out slowly through the hole, revealing him to the steamy air. Jisung cursed quietly, tried to steady his breathing, but he found he couldn’t, watching the way Minho looked at him like he was delicious, like he was a meal he couldn’t wait to dig into.

Minho started by dragging his fist slowly up the length of Jisung’s cock, tightening his grip as he got to the head, then releasing him. He shook his hair out of his eyes, looked up, and commented, “Mm. Nice size.”

Jisung couldn’t suppress a chuckle, and he wasn’t sure if it was out of pride or something else. “Thanks, I guess.”

Minho shook his hair off his face again, then said, “Okay, you may want to hold onto something.”

Jisung obliged and ran his fingers through Minho’s curls again, gripping a fistful at the back of his head and nodding as if to say ‘I’m ready.’ Minho smirked at him as if to say, ‘No you’re not,’ and wrapped his hand tightly around the base of Jisung’s dick, leaning forward gradually as he did so. Jisung could now feel Minho’s breaths fanning over his tip, and it made him short of breath and his heartbeat quicken, so he grasped Minho’s hair harder, watching him wet his lips and press a gentle kiss to the head. He bit his lip to suppress a sound, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head fall back and hit the wall again. 

“Ah . . . fuck,” Jisung breathed, looking at the ceiling before closing his eyes again. His breaths were sharp and his arm trembled. He was a wreck already.

“I’ve barely done anything yet.” Minho laughed at him.

Jisung whimpered. “I know. Don’t stop.”

Minho hummed, amused, rubbing him with his hand again. He lifted Jisung’s erection so it pointed straight up and started gently lapping at the underside with just the tip of his tongue, laving across the ridge and along the triangular spot, making Jisung’s spine tingle and his legs quake. Minho flattened his tongue and ran it all the way from base to tip, once in a straight line and again in a squiggly line, and Jisung was panting, now, like a dog on a hot day, rubbing the back of Minho’s head like a nervous tick, combing his hair with his fingers. When he managed to look down, he saw Minho go to lick another long stripe, but this time, when he got to the tip, he wrapped his lips around it and stayed there, swirling his tongue in circles, then across the very top, into the slit, swiping away the drops of pre-cum that leaked out.

Jisung let out a groan, low and deep from his throat, staring down at Minho like he couldn’t get enough of the sight, Minho suckling on the end of his cock with his eyes pointed almost _innocently_ up at Jisung, as though he was begging, pleading, as needy as Jisung was. Minho pulled his mouth off with a loud ‘ _pop_!’, returning to lick the bottom and the sides, focusing every now and again on that triangular spot that made Jisung shiver. He continued carding his hands through Minho’s hair, keeping it off his forehead so he could see his eyes, his own gaze fixed on Minho’s fucked-out face and his mouth, open wide and tongue stuck out, laving every inch of Jisung’s dick as though he enjoyed the taste of it. Maybe he _did_.

“Fuck, Minho . . .” Jisung moaned outwardly, mouth open, pushing out heaving breaths. “Fuck . . . You look so fucking pretty like this.”

Minho smiled sweetly, rubbing his hand up and down so Jisung couldn’t get even a moment’s rest, as he murmured, “Good. I like it when you watch me.”

Jisung moaned again, quieter, coming out of his mouth without him meaning it to and ending in hot breaths, dissolving into the air. Minho leaned back in and laved his tongue over the underside of the head, then fit his lips over it again, pumping his hand once before taking more of it into his mouth, teeth kept expertly out of the way. He went halfway down before coming back up, then down again, his mouth so toe-curlingly hot and wet, making Jisung’s muscles stiffen, and he moaned again, quiveringly, his hips bucking beyond his will, and Minho made a short choked noise as the tip hit the back of his throat.

“Shit, sorry,” Jisung apologized, putting a hand down to cup Minho’s chin, massaging his throat with his fingers. “I didn’t mean to do that. Maybe hold my hips down? I can’t really control it.”

Minho took his mouth away, a string of saliva connecting him to Jisung’s dick, and he giggled quietly. “No, it’s okay. I can take it.”

Jisung chuckled weakly. “You sure?”

Minho nodded and, as if to prove it, he put his lips around him again and went down, further, further, Jisung’s length disappearing inch by inch until Minho’s nose was flush against the elastic of his briefs, and his throat clenched around the head of Jisung’s cock. Jisung spasmed, letting out a choked whine and a string of curse words, his hand on Minho’s face as he rested where he was, his tongue and his throat doing the work. 

“Oh, fuck . . . Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, fuck!” Jisung swore, enveloped in the wetness of Minho’s mouth, and he bent over as his legs shook and his knees almost buckled, his breaths trembling as he let out more moans and whines. Minho stayed where he was, longer than Jisung thought he should, so he tapped Minho’s head and said, “Hey, breathe, Minho, breathe.”

Minho exhaled sharply a few times out his nose, and Jisung swore again, curling his fist back into Minho’s hair, and he stumbled again, finding it very difficult to stay standing. Minho finally released him, drawing his lips back up and off, then stood up. “Don’t fall on me, now. C’mere.”

He led Jisung by the wrist into the living room, then pushed him to sit down on the couch with his legs spread open. Minho knelt back down between them, settling in comfortably, then brought up both hands to carefully take Jisung’s cock out properly, pulling his jeans and his briefs down just enough that it was free of them. He wrapped his hand around the base again, leaving a line of kisses up the length of it, then traced the same line with his tongue, continuing to lick it all over. Jisung leaned back into the couch cushions, face turned to the ceiling and eyes closed, letting himself feel it completely, relishing every flick of Minho’s tongue and every breath he left on his exposed skin. The pleasure that pooled in the pit of his stomach was almost nauseating, and it sent shockwaves through his whole body, every bone and every nerve, every muscle tensed. 

Minho licked a final stripe to the top and wrapped his lips over it again, sinking down to take in every inch, then coming back up slowly, then down again, then bobbing his head in a constant rhythm. Jisung was mewling, now, unable to hold anything in, mumbling barely-coherent dirty nothings as his mind left him and he lost himself in the heat of Minho’s mouth. He was sure he’d never felt this good in his life, had never wanted to come so much in his life, and he begged for it, openly, through his shaky breaths and moans, flowing out of him like a river.

“Oh, God, Minho, oh _God_ ,” he chanted, tightening his grip on Minho’s hair as his head went up and down, up and down. “Fuck, Minho, fuck, oh God, _fuck_ I wanna come, shit, fuck, please make me come, Minho, God, unh—”

And then, _just_ as he was about to, Minho stopped everything, squeezing the base of Jisung’s dick to prevent him from coming, smiling devilishly at him. He waited like that, for several moments, and Jisung lifted his head to look at him, bewildered.

“Are you . . . _edging me_?” he asked.

“You said you wanted it to last,” Minho answered simply.

Jisung whined pathetically. “Yeah, but, ugh, God it feels so good, I wanna come . . . please, let me . . .”

Minho still waited, unmoving, until Jisung felt the coiled knot in his gut subside and his breathing start to steady. Then, Minho started again, licking every spot his tongue would reach, circling it around the head, then putting his lips over him and resuming, slowly at first, picking up speed gradually, the tip hitting the back of his throat each time. Jisung threw his head and his eyes rolled back, seeing spots in his vision, not a single thought in his brain except _Minho_ , his mouth, his lips, his tongue, all sliding along his shaft and awakening his every sense. He managed to lift his head again, but immediately realized what a mistake that was—Minho was looking at him, his eyes darkly sweet like chocolate, pure lust dripping from them as he swallowed Jisung’s cock, and he almost seemed more turned on than Jisung himself. That was it. Jisung felt the knot coil inside him instantly, and he screwed up his face, moaning loudly, tugging on Minho’s hair, trying to pull him off in time.

“Minho, Minho, _fuck_ Minho, fuck, I’m gonna come,” he rambled out, still tugging, but Minho wouldn’t budge. He kept moving, kept gazing at him, kept applying suction right where it was needed, and Jisung couldn’t hold it anymore. “Oh, God, Minho, I’m sorry, _fuck_ , I’m coming, Minho, I’m—”

His words cut off into a choked groan as he released, Minho swallowing him to the hilt and taking it, and Jisung’s body jerked several times as he came more than he thought he ever had, swearing and mewling and panting, bent over Minho’s frame, his hand still tangled in his hair. When it was over, his body went lax, all the energy sapped from him, and he slumped back, spent.

Minho came up and exhaled softly, looking satisfied. Jisung stared at him for a moment before he realized, “Wait, did you _swallow it_?”

Minho wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “Yeah? What else was I gonna do, spit on you?”

His voice sounded hoarse, and Jisung’s jaw hung open, before he closed it and gulped thickly. His mind was spinning. Minho stood up and sat himself beside him, carefully tucking Jisung’s softening dick back into his briefs, and Jisung did the only thing he could think of doing: He leaned over to kiss him.

Minho stopped him quickly. “Ah, you might not want to do that. My mouth tastes like dick.”

Jisung chuckled. “Yeah, _mine_. Come here.”

Minho complied, and they kissed, softly, sweetly, and Minho’s lips did indeed taste like Jisung, and he found it _wildly_ more sexy than he should have. When they parted, he glanced down to see Minho was still very hard, bulging through his tight jeans, so he caressed it gently.

“Do you want me to do anything?” he asked.

Minho shook his head, pushing his hand away. “No, you’re exhausted. I can deal with it myself.”

“You sure?” Jisung insisted.

“Yes, really, it’s fine,” Minho assured him. “Go to bed.”

Jisung pouted. “Sleep with me?”

Minho nodded. “Yeah, okay, I’ll join you in a bit. Now go.”

So he did, using all the energy he had left to lift himself off the couch and trudge to his bedroom, where he quickly changed into just sweat pants and climbed into bed. By the time Minho crawled in beside him, he was already half-asleep, just awake enough to feel him curl his arms around his midsection.

He fell asleep with a smile on his face.


	12. Gravity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> I definitely owe you guys an apology. My mental health took a dive at the end of last month and I just lost all my motivation for writing. Getting through this chapter was such a slog, and if I'm being honest, I'm not super proud of this one, it's not my best work. But I still wanted to give you guys something because you've been waiting patiently for so long. So, thank you all for sticking around! The story will start picking up soon, I promise :)
> 
> Your comments are definitely what got me through my writing slump. I keep going back to re-read them because they just make me so happy and give me a lot of motivation! So, please let me know what you thought of this chapter, I know it isn't the best but I hope you all enjoy it anyway :) 
> 
> As always, be sure to follow me on Twitter (@/reineard) and turn my notifications on to stay updated on my process, get sneak peeks of upcoming chapters, and news as soon as a new chapter is released. Also, I'm kinda funny sometimes, and I follow everyone back x)!   
> Also, be sure to check out the "Molasses in the Sky" playlists on Spotify and YouTube. Links to both playlists can be found in my pinned tweet on Twitter!
> 
> I'd like to give a special thanks to my amazing supporters. Firstly, my two beta readers, hugged and Defectiveexecisedragon (@/yoongioe and @/execisedragon on Twitter). You two have helped me a lot with my writing process so I am very thankful to you!  
> I would also like to thank suddenlystardust, Skeletonhell, septembertrees, SharkMark, nonchalantenfant, wooyoungsthighs, pupjins, koosungs, iceandsugar, femboyminho, quoramji, old_enough_to_know_better, leefrecklix, shiiirotani, starsbins, lunettic97, TheMidwestJess, ashsok, dawnshine, and mendeibede for leaving so many amazing comments, as well as every single one of you who's left comments or kudos, and all of you who've given my little story a chance. Thank you all so much for your support, I love you all so much <3
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "Gravity" by Ralph!
> 
> Happy reading~

_Tossin’ and turnin’, I can’t get you off my mind,_   
_Thinkin’ about what you did to me last night._

Jisung awoke to his cheek being poked and pinched, and someone nibbling gently on his earlobe. He screwed up his face and groaned sleepily into his pillow, bringing up a hand to swat at the disturbance, and he heard a soft giggle. 

“Wake up, or else I’ve got a Wet Willy for you,” a voice whispered in his ear.

Jisung turned over onto his back, opening his eyes to look up at Minho. “You can’t use my own weapons against me, that’s unfair.”

“It’s not _unfair_ , it’s _strategy_ ,” corrected Minho, laughing. His eyes were sweet, his smile soft, and he brought up a hand to tickle the end of Jisung’s nose with his fingertip. Jisung scrunched up his face, grabbing Minho’s wrist to stop him, then tugging it to pull Minho partway on top of him, bringing him in for a kiss. Or two. Or three.

Minho’s knee slotted itself between Jisung’s thighs while they kissed, and he let out a soft exhale through his nose. He broke away from Jisung’s lips, inclining his chin to glance down, then back up with laughter in his eyes. He murmured, “You’re energetic, aren’t you?”

Jisung knew what Minho was referring to. Apparently, getting the blowjob of all blowjobs was not enough to cease his recurring morning wood. He could only smile shyly, and respond, “Sorry. It’s a side effect of sleeping with someone who’s so, incredibly hot.”

“Oh? And who would that be?” Minho joked, ghosting his fingers across the still-damaged skin of Jisung’s neck, where the hickeys hadn’t fully healed and remained as faint yellowish blotches. 

Jisung put his hands on Minho’s hips, pressing his nails into the fabric of his t-shirt, feeling the supple flesh beneath his palms. “Well . . . he’s got these catlike eyes, this really cute smile, a contagious laugh, these pretty lips, and he sucks dick like you would _not_ fuckin’ believe.”

Minho chuckled earnestly, his head drooping so his hair tickled Jisung’s face. “So, let me ask you this question again. What was the best blowjob you’ve ever had?”

“Hmm, let me think about that . . .” Jisung said, feigning deep thought, putting a finger to his chin and looking up. Minho looked sourly at him, and he laughed. “Just kidding. Of course it was yours.”

Minho looked pleased. He rubbed his thigh between Jisung’s legs, making him hum in pleasure. “Still wasn’t enough to keep you satisfied, though, huh?”

“No, no, don’t get me wrong, I’m perfectly satisfied,” Jisung assured him, “it’s just that, well, my boy here can be quite the greedy son of a bitch.”

Minho smirked. “I see. Well, may I give your ‘boy’ three minutes of my time?”

Jisung gently let his eyes close and sighed at the thought. It had hardly been eight hours since Minho had sucked the life and soul out of him, and yet here he was, offering to do it _again_ , with the eagerness of a child begging for candy. Yet, something stalled Jisung from answering. He could feel against his hip that Minho was also hard, and by putting his leg between Jisung’s, he’d unwittingly put himself in a compromised position, with Jisung’s own leg between his thighs. So, Jisung bent his knee, pushing his leg into Minho’s crotch and forcing a shocked noise from him.

“Someday, for sure,” Jisung promised, “but I won’t let you do anything further for me until you let me do some stuff to you.”

Minho, seemingly beyond his control, ground his hips into Jisung’s leg, and his face changed, pleasure flashing in his eyes. He asked, breathily, “Oh yeah? Some ‘stuff,’ huh? What kind of stuff?”

Jisung turned a little to the side, guiding Minho’s hips to follow him, so that his erection met Jisung’s own instead of his leg. “I’d do whatever you want me to do.”

Minho shook his head, dissatisfied. “No, I won’t let you off that easily. What do _you_ want to do to me? Tell me.”

Jisung hummed in thought, bringing up a hand to trace Minho’s cheekbone, grazing his soft skin. He said, quietly, “All sorts of things.”

“Yeah? Like what?” Minho pressed, rolling his hips forward.

Jisung’s breaths were coming quicker now, harsh and warm against Minho’s face, and his eyes hooded as his body started to heat up. “First, I’d kiss you. Here,” he kissed Minho’s lips, “and then everywhere. I’d leave marks all over your body. On your neck. On your chest. On your stomach. And, oh God, on your thighs.”

Minho licked his lips slightly, his pupils large and his eyes round, gazing into Jisung’s and full of lustful curiosity. “I’d like that. Tell me more.”

“I’d touch you. Everywhere. I wouldn’t miss a single spot,” he whispered, his hips gyrating, pressing his crotch into Minho’s and wrenching a small groan from his throat. “I want to know everything, every inch of your skin. I want to feel it all come apart under my hands. I want to know all the places you like to be touched. I want to know where you like it the most.”

At these words, he ran his fingers down Minho’s neck, to his collarbones and then to his chest, splaying his hands out, feeling his heartbeat. His thumb brushed over one of his nipples, hard and poking through his shirt, and it made Minho hiss and shut his eyes for a moment. Curious, Jisung repeated the action, and Minho’s whole body shivered, and he moaned sweetly. He did it a few more times, pressing his thumb in, and Minho’s every muscle tensed. 

“Mm. You like it here, huh?” Jisung noted, pinching Minho’s nipple between his thumb and forefinger, then drew circles around it. Minho moaned, quietly, and nodded his head. Jisung felt lightheaded, dizzy, watching Minho speechless and aroused by his touch, it was like a hit stronger than heroin. Somehow, the thought that Minho had a sensitive chest turned him on more than the rolling of his hips, and he felt his cock twitch madly in his briefs. 

“Don’t— _ah_ —stop touching me,” Minho pleaded, his eyes closed again and his chin tucked in, his mouth ajar as he let out hot breaths and moans, quivering beneath Jisung’s hands. “Please— _hah_ —keep talking to me. What else would you do?”

Jisung tried to think, but he was losing himself slowly, as he continued rubbing his thumb in circles on Minho’s chest, rutting his hips into Minho’s, flowing with his rhythm, his body being set on fire. He mumbled out, “I . . . I want to make you feel amazing. I want to make you see stars. I want to give you everything you like, everything you want, so tell me, what do you like? What do you want?”

“I like everything you do,” Minho moaned, gripping Jisung’s waist and pulling him closer, pressing into him like he couldn’t get close enough. “I want you . . . I want you to— _fuck_ —put your hands on me, your mouth on me, on my skin, on my— _oh fuck_ —on my cock, _uhn_ —”

Jisung pressed into him harder, his body trembling, groaning low from his chest. “I want that. I want to suck your dick. I mean, I don’t really know how to, but I’ll learn.”

Minho laughed quietly, his bottom lip caught in his teeth. He looked up at Jisung with a kind of mischievous energy in his gaze, his eyelids fluttering, then he brought his face forward for a kiss. Jisung kissed him hotly, open-mouthed, exploring with his tongue, tangling it with Minho’s while their hips ground against each other, every push, every rub, every miniscule movement bringing him closer to the edge. It was hard to focus on any of it, though, because Minho was still laughing, giggling stupidly into his lips, his chest shaking beneath Jisung’s hands.

“Hey, what’s so funny?” Jisung asked, smiling as he watched Minho laugh harder, and his movements stalled.

“Nothing. Just . . . You’re gonna learn?” Minho mumbled, his smile wide.

“Yeah. I’m gonna learn. Why’s that funny?” Jisung questioned, cocking his eyebrow. He squeezed Minho’s waist, then trailed his hand back up to resume his ministrations on his chest, bringing his face millimeters from Minho’s and breathing into his lips. “I’m gonna learn to suck your dick. I’m gonna do what you did to me, make you cry and squeal and beg me to let you come, tease you until you can’t take it anymore. I’ll do it as many times as it takes. I’ll get better and better until I can give you the best blowjob of your goddamn life. How’s that? Still funny?”

“No, _ah_ —” Minho sighed, clutching Jisung’s sweats in his fist, tugging him closer and rutting into him, his legs quivering. “You can do . . . whatever the fuck you want to me. I like it all. I want it all. Just— _fuck_ —keep touching me . . .”

Minho threw his head back, exposing the expanse of his neck, his mouth open and letting out heated, heavy breaths, and Jisung could feel in the twitches of his skin that he was close, and when he ran his fingers down Minho’s arm, along the smattering of goosebumps, Minho shivered, and Jisung knew that he was desperate. Desperate for Jisung and all he was doing, all that he could do, all that he gave and all that he was. It made Jisung breathless knowing he was desired like this, possibly more than he’d been desired before, and by the person he desired the most.

Jisung put his hands on Minho’s hips, by the hem of his shirt, and slowly crept his fingers beneath it, touching skin that was so boiling hot he could almost hear it sizzling. Minho’s back arched into him, opening his chest to give Jisung free reign, so he slid his hand up further, lifting Minho’s shirt to his collarbone, exposing the planes of his abdomen. Jisung looked down, appreciating the sight, his toned and muscular stomach and the slopes of his waist, his ample pecs and hardened nipples, and even his belly button was pretty. 

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Jisung whispered, running his fingers down Minho’s abs and up again, as though he was playing a guiro. Minho spasmed under his touch like it was ticklish, and his eyes fluttered closed as a small smile graced his face. 

“Stop it— _hah_ —you know I’m weak for compliments,” Minho murmured, his breathing more ragged than before and his grinding faltered as he quickly lost energy, giving himself up completely to the sensations of Jisung’s hands on him.

“I didn’t know that. Now I do,” Jisung said slyly, smirking. He started leaving soft kisses on Minho’s throat, from his collar to his chin, then along the sides and everywhere he could reach. “Do you like any pet names? Wait, don’t tell me, I’ll figure it out. How about . . . baby?”

Minho moaned softly, putting a hand in Jisung’s hair and tangling his fingers in the strands. Jisung smiled and started sucking a small mark into the base of Minho’s neck. “Oh, you like that? Baby? Okay, baby, what about . . . cutie?”

Minho sucked in air sharply through his teeth and nodded, his chin bumping Jisung’s head. Jisung continued nibbling and pecking at his neck, saying in between kisses, “Yeah? That one too? Cutie? Do you like . . . darling? Sweetheart?”

“I like all of them,” Minho breathed, his grip on Jisung’s hair getting tighter. “Anything you say, I like it. Call me whatever you want.”

Jisung hummed, looking at the mark he’d made, glowing red against Minho’s olive skin, and he stooped lower, sucking just below his collarbone, beginning a trail down his chest. Minho was still moaning, not holding anything in, and Jisung couldn’t get enough of the sound. His voice was pretty, like music to his ears, ringing in his head and reverberating in his bones, and he wanted to hear all the sounds he could make, make him moan his name, make him beg and cry for more, he wanted everything. He wanted it so bad it hurt.

“Talk to me. Tell me how you feel,” Jisung ordered, sucking a hickey into his pec, tasting his skin and his sweat, circling his hips, trailing his fingers all over Minho’s frame, leaving a trail of prickling, acidic heat. 

“ _Ah_ , Jisung, I—” Minho tried, his words breaking into a shuddering mewl as his body quaked. “Jisung, your lips on me, your touch, it’s— _unh_ —fuck, don’t stop, I’m almost there, _hah_ —”

That was all he needed to hear. He flipped Minho onto his back and crawled over him, latching onto his nipple and licking it, sucking it, dragging his hand down to clutch the bulge in his pajamas, squeezing it, rubbing it from top to bottom, palming him hard yet teasingly slow. Minho’s back arched and his toes curled, and he squeezed his lips together as he let out an inward whine, both his hands in Jisung’s hair. Even through the fabric, feeling Minho’s cock in his hand, it was indeed big, and Jisung could almost visualize what it looked like—fairly long and wonderfully thick, perhaps with a slight curvature, and somehow the thought of it turned him on. He’d never had the slightest interest in anyone else’s dick before, but when it came to Minho, every part of him was perfect, and Jisung wanted to feel it all, see it all, _taste_ it all.

“Jisung, Jisung, _fuck_ , don’t fucking stop, don’t you dare stop, oh _God_ , I’m so close,” Minho chanted, between soft mewls and cries, bucking his hips into Jisung’s hand, his body begging as much as his words. “Please, Jisung, _please_ , I wanna come, I’m gonna come, _fucking fuck_ I’m gonna— I’m coming, I’m comi—”

With that, his body went rigid, and he let out an almost guttural wail, his limbs shaking, and Jisung felt his cock writhe in his hand, so he kept gently rubbing, helping him ride it out. Minho went still, his head back, breathing rough alongside moans of aftershock, his legs still quivering as he came down from the high. Jisung gave his nipple a final lick, then went up to kiss him sweetly, holding him like he was precious, and in truth, he was. 

“Fuck, that was hot,” Jisung said, touching his nose to Minho’s, gazing into his eyes. “You’re so pretty, coming for me, moaning my name . . . God.”

Minho smiled weakly. “ _You’re_ fucking hot. Now roll over, it’s your turn.”

Jisung complied, rolling onto his back. “Oh, it’s my turn, huh?”

Minho got on top of Jisung slowly, then crawled down beneath the covers, latching onto the elastic of his sweats. Jisung mumbled, “Oh, fuck, I’m already so close, I won’t even last three minutes.”

“That’s fine,” he heard Minho say from under the blankets. A part of Jisung wanted to remove the concealing fabric, but there was something about the mystery that was also very appealing, so he simply laid his head back and shut his eyes, letting himself enjoy it. 

Jisung lifted his butt so Minho could pull his pants down, just enough, freeing him from the offending clothes, his cock lifting up and then falling down onto his stomach with an obscene slapping sound. This time, Minho didn’t waste a second, grabbing hold of his shaft and giving it a single lick before swallowing it to the hilt, the tip hitting the back of his throat before he went up, then down, then up again, starting off on a quick rhythm that instantly had Jisung’s spine tingling and his muscles stiffening. It absolutely would not take long, as he already felt that knot in his gut, every swipe of Minho’s tongue threatening to untie it, but he held on, trying to savor it. Despite his effort, it was impossible, that near-nauseating feeling only getting worse, his hips jerking as he groaned wantonly, a whisper of Minho’s name on his lips.

“Fuck! Fuck, Minho, I’m there, shit,” he cursed over and over, and with the last suction-heavy bob of Minho’s head, he was coming, the knot unraveling into salty, liquid pleasure, emptying all he had in him down Minho’s throat. He turned to jelly, letting out a contented sigh, and when Minho came back up, tucking him into his briefs again, he gulped thickly and gave him a cheeky grin.

“Good?” he asked, and Jisung could only nod. “Cool. I call first in the shower!”

Minho went to scurry out of the bed, but Jisung tugged him back, bringing him in for another lasting kiss, moaning against his lips. When they parted, he breathed, “You are a fucking wizard.”

Jisung kissed him again, licking his taste out of his mouth, still finding it _incredibly_ sexy, much more than he probably should. Minho gave him another cheeky smile and asked, “Do you like tasting your dick on my breath or somethin’?”

“Maybe it’s my new kink,” Jisung mused, smirking. 

“Uh-huh.” Minho chuckled. He got out of bed and departed down the hall with one last over-the-shoulder glance at Jisung, and soon after he heard the shower running. Jisung stayed in bed a few minutes longer, relishing in post-orgasm bliss, before he rolled over to check his phone and found a few texts from Hyunjin that had been sent a little while ago.

10월 23일, 10:34 오전  
우리 모두 창빈형네 집에 갈 거야 (We’re all going to Changbin’s house)  
빨리 와라 (Come soon)  
민호형 데리고 와, 민호형 생일 계획 세워야돼 (Bring Minho, we need to make plans for his birthday)

Jisung got out of bed and picked out his clothes for the day, a large white t-shirt and blue overalls, as well as a white baseball cap. He left them on his bed to change into after his shower, and quickly finger-combed his bangs. Then, he sat down and replied to Hyunjin’s text.

10월 23일, 10:58 오전  
ㅇㅋ, 조금 있다가 올게 (O.K., we’ll come over in a little while)

He heard the shower turn off and the bathroom door open, followed by Minho’s footsteps retreating down the hall to his own room. Jisung got up and grabbed a couple dry towels from the hallway closet, then went to take his own shower, a quick rinse of his body and conditioning of his hair. Once he felt refreshed, he got out, drying himself off and returning to his room to get changed. When he went out into the living room, he found Minho on the couch, scrolling through his phone, and he wore a black-and-white striped t-shirt and blue jeans with a rip in one knee. 

Jisung sat beside him and glanced over his shoulder to peek at his phone screen. He was looking at his Instagram feed, full of posts from friends and classmates and celebrities he liked. Minho looked back at him and turned his phone off, slinging an arm around his shoulders.

“What’s the plan for today?” he asked. Then, he looked Jisung up and down, and added, “By the way, I love those overalls on you.”

Jisung smiled shyly. “Ah, heh, thanks. Hyunjin invited us to Changbin’s today. I guess the guys are hanging out again.”

Minho leaned his forehead against Jisung’s. “You know what that means. Feel like getting blasted this morning?”

“Are you kidding?” Jisung laughed. “The _only_ thing that should follow great sex is some good smoke. Let’s go.”

Minho grinned, and they made for the foyer. Jisung put on Timberlands, lacing them up halfway, while Minho wore black high-top Converse. They first walked to Starbucks for coffees and breakfast sandwiches, then made their way to Changbin’s apartment. They buzzed his suite, and waited, until his voice crackled through the speaker.

“Ya? Who’s this?” he demanded.

“It’s Joe,” said Jisung.

“Joe? Joe who?” Changbin asked.

“Joe _Mama_ ,” Jisung answered, snickering. “Let us in.”

“You’re stupid,” said Changbin, as the door was opened for them to enter. They walked into the building and made their way to the suite, where they were let in by Hyunjin, who, without even saying ‘Hello,’ snatched the breakfast sandwich from Jisung’s hand and took a bite out of it.

“You fucking—” Jisung hissed, taking his food back. “Get your own damn breakfast.”

Hyunjin smiled cheekily, and they went to sit on the couch. Felix and Chan were already there, and Changbin’s roommates seemed to be out. Felix was busy twisting small braids into Chan’s hair while Chan was scribbling lyrics in his notebook, seemingly unaware of Felix’s ministrations. Jisung felt eyes on him, and he turned to see Hyunjin inches from his face, squinting suspiciously at him.

“. . . What?” Jisung asked, slightly spooked.

“I dunno. Something’s _different_ about you,” murmured Hyunjin, still squinting. “Did you get a haircut?”

Jisung gave him a weird look. “No?”

“Hmm,” Hyunjin hummed, tapping his chin. “You just seem . . . more relaxed. Chill. Like there’s a weight that’s been lifted, or tension that’s been released.”

Jisung chuckled. “What the fuck? Are you a detective or something?”

“Nope. Just observant,” said Hyunjin. Then, his eyes widened. “Ah-ha! I got it! You, mister, got your dick sucked, didn’t you?”

Jisung opened his mouth, shocked that Hyunjin had deduced that so easily, but before he could say anything, Minho chimed, “Yep. Twice.”

Hyunjin snapped his fingers, as though he thought himself a genius. Then, he froze. “Wait, _twice_? You were celibate just yesterday. How did you get blown twice already? Did I accidentally sleep through the week?”

Felix glanced over and Chan looked up from his notepad. Felix wondered, “Wait, what? Who got blown?”

“Jisungie finally got _sum_ ,” Hyunjin announced, clapping his hands. “Sum’a that licky-licky, sum’a that _neck_.”

“Stop it, you’re gross,” Jisung said, flicking him in the cheek. 

Hyunjin held his hands up innocently. “Hey, I’m just living vicariously through you because I’m in a sexual drought. So how was your double-BJ?”

“That’s for me to know and you to not find out,” Jisung mused, batting his lashes sweetly. “Now, who’s got the smoke?”

Hyunjin giggled. “I’ve already had a couple hits. Ask Felix.”

“Clearly.” Jisung snorted. “Lix? You down for a toke?”

Felix stood up and nodded, picking up his bong from the table. “Yep, I’ll have one. Chan, you comin’?”

Chan answered by standing up himself and heading for the balcony. Changbin also joined them, and as Jisung went to follow, Hyunjin grabbed his wrist and tugged on it, whining, “No, don’t leave me! I want to hear about the sucky!”

Jisung shook his arm out of Hyunjin’s grasp. “Maybe I’ll tell you once I’m high enough, but I think you need a nap.”

Hyunjin pouted, but let him go. Minho, through a mouthful of food, piped up, “I’ll join you guys in a minute, after I finish my breakfast.”

Jisung nodded and shot him a thumbs-up. He joined Chan, Changbin, and Felix on the balcony, sitting on the ground as there were no chairs, and took the grinder that Chan handed him, unscrewing the top to find it half-full of green. Felix took the bowl out of his bong and passed it to him, and once he’d filled it up halfway, Felix passed the bong over, too. Jisung took his hit swiftly, holding the smoke in his lungs, letting it filter through his whole body before slowly blowing it out. 

“Aye, how was that?” Felix asked, taking his bong back carefully.

Jisung coughed lightly. “Great. What strain?”

“Sour Deez,” Chan answered, taking his grinder and pushing the green around inside it with his finger. “It’s a sativa, supposed to give a ‘euphoric’ high. Honestly, most highs feel pretty much the same to me.”

Changbin hummed. “I dunno. I took a small toke earlier with Hyunjin, and I’d say Sour D hits a little different than some other sativas, like Green Crack, for example. This has more of a mellow, happy feeling, but it doesn’t provide as much bouncing-off-the-walls energy.”

“Okay, O Great Weed Maestro,” Felix teased him. “You’ve been a stoner longer than any of us, we _know_. We _get_ it.”

Jisung stared at Changbin, dazed, his eyes clouded, and he cracked a smile. “Binnie, you’re so cool. You underground-rapping, cypher-spitting, weed-smoking cool guy. How and why are you even friends with me?”

Changbin smirked and leaned over to push his head. “Oh, Lord, has it gotten to you already?”

Jisung giggled, looking down at his hands. Felix finished his bowl and passed the bong over to Chan, who took it as he asked, “So, Jisung, Minho’s blown you twice already, eh?”

“Heh, yeah.” Jisung nodded shyly, scratching behind his ear. “Once last night, once this morning. He’s kind of . . . _really_ good at it.”

Chan laughed and fit the now-full bowl into the bong. “He’d fucking better be, with the amount he hyped up his own skills. I mean, he talked some mad game, it’d be kinda sad if he actually sucked.”

“Oh, he sucked, all right,” Jisung said loudly, eyes blown wide. “He sucked like a fucking vampire, like he was trying to drink my soul out through my dick like a straw. The man’s a maniac, a sorcerer. A dick wizard. A _dizzard_.”

Chan blew out his smoke through a chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “Alright, alright, I hear you. Is that why he did it twice already? You liked it so much the first time you needed a round two?”

Jisung hummed. “Well, it’s not like I was making him do it. He wanted to, he _insisted_. I mean, remember what he said at the bar the other night? He enjoys giving head as much as he enjoys receiving it.”

Felix nodded knowingly and took his bong from Chan. “I can relate to that, giving head is fuckin’ hot. Especially when you’re good at it.”

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Jisung murmured, with a sigh. “I don’t even know _how_ to do it, much less be good at it. Oh, that reminds me, I wanted to ask you guys something.”

“You want us to give you advice on sucking dick, am I right?” Felix guessed while packing his bowl with green.

Jisung raised his eyebrows at him. “How’d you figure that?”

Felix rolled his eyes. “You’re not hard to read. I mean, Minho’s blown you twice, I’d imagine you want to reciprocate, but you’ve been straight all your life, so naturally you wouldn’t know your way around a dick. And you’ve got all of us boy-kissers gathered here, and a rare opportunity with Minho away. What _else_ would you be asking us?”

“Dang. Detective Lix,” Jisung mused. “Well, you’ve said all I was gonna say. I don’t just want to blow Minho’s dick, I want to blow his _mind_. So, how do I do it?”

Changbin put his palms up. “Don’t look at me. I told you before, I’m bad at it.”

Felix snorted. “You can’t be _that_ bad.”

“I _am_ ,” Changbin insisted. “I’ve got a small mouth, my anatomy’s cursed me. I can barely fit my lips around most dicks, let alone deep-throat anyone.”

“That’s quitter’s talk,” Felix huffed, then ripped his hit. After blowing out the smoke, he went on, hoarsely, “Having a small mouth is just an excuse. You don’t have to be able to deep-throat to blow someone well. You just gotta have the right techniques that you can do with your lips and your tongue.”

Changbin shrugged. “Well, I don’t know the right techniques.”

“Maybe I should show you how it’s done, then,” Felix suggested, with a wink.

Changbin didn’t respond, but Jisung saw the tips of his ears turn red. Chan looked at his hands with wide eyes and a small, sly grin. Jisung cleared his throat, diverting the attention back to himself. “Got any tips for me?”

Felix passed his bong to Changbin and looked up in thought. “Same as I said to Bin, you don’t need to do fancy tricks like deep-throating to give a good blowjob. In fact, if it’s your first swing at it, _do not_ attempt to deep-throat him, you’ll just end up hurting yourself or worse, puking on Minho. That stuff’s expert-level, so work your way up to it if you want to.”

“Really, giving a guy head isn’t so different from giving a girl head. It’s just a bigger area to cover,” Chan added helpfully. “The cardinal rule is, the less you do, the better. Flicks of the tongue, light suction, and soft kisses work _wonders_. The only real, important difference is keeping your teeth out of the way, unless, y’know, Minho’s into teeth-scraping. He’s kinda freaky so I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Jisung looked at Chan with a slightly-fearful gaze. “ _Teeth-scraping_? Like . . . biting him? Biting his . . . his _dick_?”

Felix choked on his own spit. “ _No_! No, God, no, do not fucking bite his dick. That’s how you make sure you _never_ get to blow him again. Teeth-scraping is exactly what it sounds like, gently—and that’s the keyword here, _gently_ —dragging your teeth along his shaft. But I would say, if you’re gonna try that, maybe ask if he’s down for it, first.”

“Listen, Jisung, the bottom line is, Minho likes you,” Chan pointed out, “and he’s aware you’ve never given a blowjob before, he’s not expecting you to be good at it. I’m sure he’ll enjoy it no matter what.”

Changbin finished his hit from the bong and made a sound. “Oh, and, don’t be afraid to ask him to teach you. Let him guide you through it. ‘Cause that shit’s hot as fuck.”

Jisung thought about that. It was about the first time he’d properly imagined it—himself, on his knees, in front of Minho, gazing up at him with his mouth open and his tongue ready, and Minho looking back at him with dark eyes full of unmasked lust, one hand in his hair as he gave directions in a husky voice. He’d tell Jisung exactly how to suck him, exactly what he likes; he’d tell Jisung that he was doing well, how good Jisung was making him feel, give him those sweet sounds among hushed words of praise, guiding him through the process, teaching him exactly how to satisfy him.

His train of thought was interrupted—probably for the best, as he could already feel himself getting hard when this was neither the time nor place—by the sliding door opening behind them, and Minho came out to the balcony, stepping over three pairs of legs to get to Jisung. He sat down and slung his arm around Jisung, laying his head down on his shoulder.

“What’d I miss?” he asked.

Changbin didn’t answer, just passed Straya down the line to him. Felix and Chan looked at each other awkwardly, unsure what to say. Jisung chuckled nervously and mumbled, “Oh, nothing.”

Minho accepted that response, packing the bowl with the last of what was in the grinder and fitting it into the bong. He packed it fat, but being a seasoned smoker, he was still able to rip it all in one go, letting it settle in his lungs before blowing out a huge cloud. After, he passed the bong back to Felix and rested his head on Jisung’s shoulder again, humming contentedly.

“So, buddy, we were gonna plan your birthday party today,” Chan told him. “Anything in particular you’d like to do? Any ideas?”

Minho made a noise into Jisung’s shirt, one that was either disapproving or simply dismissive. “You guys don’t have to do anything. I don’t usually celebrate my birthdays anyway. I’m only getting older, it’s nothing special, really.”

Felix scoffed. “Bah! Fuck that. We’re your friends, it’s our civic duty to throw you a bangin’ birthday bash. I mean, Hell, you’ve been alive another year, not everyone can say that. So you can either tell us what you’d like to do, or we can come up with something.”

Minho chuckled lightly. “Yeah, okay. Let me think about it for a sec.”

They were quiet for several minutes, enjoying the cool afternoon air, the brisk bite of the breeze chilling their bones and reminding them that summer was over, and winter was waiting just around the corner. It wouldn’t be long until the sun turned cold and scarcely showed its face, hidden behind wispy grey clouds, replaced with rain and soon after, snow. Jisung could already tell it would be a cold autumn, and a miserable winter. Yet, with Minho next to him, his body curled against him and his head on his shoulder, Jisung couldn’t feel the chill. 

Eventually, Felix started complaining about the cold, so the five of them headed back inside, Felix immediately rushing to Changbin’s room and stealing all the blankets off his bed, wrapping them around himself. Jisung found Hyunjin on the couch looking at his phone with glassy, unfocused eyes, but as he went to sit next to him, Minho stopped him. Minho took Jisung’s spot next to Hyunjin and pat his thighs invitingly, so Jisung sat on him, leaning back against his chest and letting Minho wrap his arms around his waist. Chan found a spot at the other end of the couch, and Felix sat beside him. As Changbin approached, he gave Felix a look, gesturing to the stolen bedcovers. 

“What? I’m cold,” said Felix.

“Me too, give me some of those,” Changbin demanded, sitting next to him and tugging on the blankets. Felix opened one side of his burrito wrapping and flung it around Changbin so they could both share in the warmth.

Hyunjin turned his phone off and looked down the couch with a scowl. “Well, wouldja look at this lovely display. I’ve never felt more single in my life.”

“I feel sorry for you, I do,” Jisung said unapologetically. 

Chan looked at Hyunjin pityingly and held his arms open wide. “C’mere, let’s be painfully single together.”

Hyunjin made a pouty-face and scurried over to Chan, collapsing into his embrace and cuddling with him. He curled up like an infant in Chan’s lap, nuzzling into his shoulder and tucking his arms into his chest. Jisung wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d started sucking his thumb.

“Now that we’re all buddied up,” Felix began, his head laid on Changbin’s shoulder, “got any ideas yet, Minho? For your birthday?”

Minho pressed his forehead into Jisung’s back, thinking. “Mm, I don’t know. We don’t have to celebrate my birthday, really, it’s fine.”

Jisung twisted his body around to look at Minho as best he could. “Yeah, we _do_ have to. Think of it this way, we’re all looking for any excuse to party. We don’t even have to do any cake or presents if that’s not what you want, but at least let us celebrate you. You’re turning twenty-two, that’s crazy.”

“I know, I’m _old_ ,” Minho groaned, tossing his head back against the couch cushion. “Listen, I don’t really care what we do for my birthday. If you guys want to throw me a soirée, go ahead.”

“Really? You don’t care _at all_?” Hyunjin murmured, still cradled in Chan’s arms. He had sleepy eyes and a pout on his lips, and even though he was the tallest out of all of them—albeit not by a wide margin—he somehow looked incredibly small in his current position. 

Minho shrugged, his bottom lip jutting out. “I mean, not really, no. But I guess if you guys are looking for ideas, my dad owns a summer cabin by the sea that he never goes to, so we could maybe crash there for a weekend—”

“Ooh, a road trip? Cabin party? I am _in_!” Hyunjin announced giddily, wriggling around in Chan’s lap.

Felix smiled brightly and lifted his head off Changbin’s shoulder for a moment. “That does sound like fun. We could have a fire and roast marshmallows, go to the beach, drink ourselves stupid. I’m down.”

“Now, hold on just a minute,” Minho stopped them, lifting up a finger. “The cabin is in Trinidad, near McKinleyville, and that’s a ten-hour drive from here. It would be one heck of a road trip. We’d be gone longer than just one night.”

Chan, who was carding his fingers gently through Hyunjin’s long hair, pursed his lips in thought. “That’s not so bad. McKinleyville, you said? That’s past Sacramento, so we could always stop over at a hotel there for a night. That would break the drive into two parts, making it a little easier.”

Changbin nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. I quite like the idea of a cabin getaway, I don’t really care how long it takes to get there.”

“Me too. So, here’s the plan,” Felix said, sitting forward, “we drive to Sacramento, say, tomorrow morning, spend the day there, and sleep in a hotel. The following morning, we drive the rest of the way to the cabin. Then, we spend, maybe, a couple days there before making our way back?”

Minho hummed. “That’s a Hell of a trip. Just for my birthday? It doesn’t seem worth it. I mean, we’d have to take days off work and everything.”

“But think about it! A road trip across California? That sounds awesome!” Jisung said excitedly.

“I hear Sacramento is nice. I’ve never been, so it’d be cool to spend a day there,” Chan added.

“Plus, a nice, cozy cabin? Near some beaches and a small town? It would be super relaxing. I need that,” Hyunjin mumbled.

Felix grinned. “So, we’re decided?”

Minho relented, “Yeah, alright, fine. I guess so, if you guys really want to.”

“Great! Channie, text Seungmin and Jeongin, fill them in on the plan,” Felix directed. “I’ll work out the specifics later today, y’know, book the hotel and stuff. When you guys get home, pack for a five-to-six-day trip. This’ll be fun!”

Minho chuckled, the reverberations from his chest shaking Jisung. “I guess there is something fun about spontaneity. I’m kind of excited, now.”

While Chan had his phone out, Hyunjin took the remote off the coffee table and switched on the TV, browsing through the Netflix profile labeled ‘Parasite 1.’ He clicked his tongue and asked, “Well, any suggestions, boys?”

“Mm, _Stranger Things_?” Felix offered. “The new season’s supposed to be coming out soon. It’d be good to refresh my memory.”

Lacking a better option, Hyunjin put on the first episode of the third season and leaned back into Chan. Judging by his drooping eyelids, it was very likely he’d fall asleep long before episode two. Minho spread his thighs so Jisung fell between them, then wrapped both legs around Jisung’s midsection, clutching onto him like a baby koala holds onto its mother. 

Chan put his phone down and said, “Hey, if we’re about to binge-watch, we need snacks. Binnie, feed us. We’re high and starving.”

Changbin reluctantly peeled himself away from Felix and walked into the kitchen, and moments later Jisung could hear rustling and rummaging in the cupboards. Felix looked down at his hands, seemingly in deep thought, before he shook himself out of it and got up, following after Changbin. As soon as he was gone, Hyunjin stole his blankets and draped them over himself, snuggling into them.

Felix and Changbin were gone for a long time. They had gotten halfway through the episode and still there were no snacks in front of them. Hyunjin had already fallen asleep, and Minho seemed about to do the same, his nose buried in Jisung’s shoulder blade and his breathing slowed. Jisung smacked his lips, feeling parched, so he twisted himself out of Minho’s grasp, though he was reluctant to let go.

“Just a sec, I’m gonna get some water,” Jisung explained, “ _and_ see what the damn holdup is.”

Minho whined, but released him. Jisung got up and trudged toward the kitchen, rubbing his eyes to cease the dizziness from standing up too fast, trusting his feet to know their way. When he felt smooth tile beneath his socks, he opened his eyes, and he immediately almost fell over, using the countertop to stabilize himself.

Felix’s back was pressed against the counter, Changbin’s whole body engulfing his frame with both his hands on his face, and they were kissing, messily, Felix’s fingers making a rat’s nest of Changbin’s hair. As soon as he heard Jisung enter, Felix’s eyes snapped open, and he startled, shoving Changbin away from him and standing, frozen, with his mouth open, like a deer caught in the headlights. Changbin stumbled back, confused, until he turned around and laid eyes on Jisung, and he, too, stood still as a statue.

Jisung’s eyes flipped in between the two of them, equally as shocked as they were. He muttered, “I-I . . . Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt, I just wanted some water, but uh . . . you know what? I’m alright, so, um, as you were.”

With that, he spun on his heels and retreated back to the safety of the living room. He sat on the edge of the couch cushion, next to Minho, white as a sheet and a face like he’d just witnessed a murder. Minho glanced at him, concerned, leaning over to get a proper look at his expression.

“I thought you were getting a drink?” he asked slowly.

“Y-Yeah, I uh, I’m not thirsty anymore,” Jisung stammered.

Minho cocked an eyebrow. “What happened?”

Just as he said that, Felix and Changbin returned, awkwardly shuffling into the room with bags of chips and Coke cans in their hands. They sat on the couch, stiff as boards and about a meter’s distance between them, not even seeming to notice their blanket had been stolen. Changbin’s hair was wrecked, sticking up in places, and both of their lips were reddened and puffy. 

Minho hummed knowingly, seeming to understand. “Ah. I see.”

Chan did not read the situation as well as Minho had, and asked through a laugh, “Jesus, Binnie, what happened to your hair? Was there a hurricane in the kitchen or somethin’?”

“Chan. Shut up,” Felix ordered, through gritted teeth.

It was awkwardly silent for a few minutes after that. Jisung slowly grabbed a bag of Doritos between two fingers and pulled it toward him, clutching it to his chest. Hyunjin, still sleeping, was blissfully unaware of the tension—he even had the audacity to snore. Chan caught on much too late, as his eyes flickered between Changbin and Felix, at their statuesque stances and wandering gazes, and his jaw dropped open. Then he closed it, and inhaled a breath. Then he opened it again, as if to say something, but he remained silent, staring in disbelief.

Minho let out a breathy chuckle and turned to Jisung. “Lean back, I wanna be the little spoon now.”

Jisung complied, settling his back into the cushions and opening his arms. Minho curled himself into his embrace, tucking his head into Jisung’s chest and wrapping his arm around his waist. They laid like that, content in one another’s comfort, watching the TV absently until the awkward tension had subsided and they were halfway through the season. At that point, Chan shook Hyunjin awake, jiggling his shoulder and pinching his cheek until he stirred, looking back at Chan with bleary eyes.

“Huh? Wha? Whaddya want?” Hyunjin mumbled groggily.

Chan looked down at him. “Don’t you have a shift at work today?”

“Yeah? Oh, fuck, _yeah_ ,” Hyunjin realized, sitting up in a frenzy, the blankets falling off him onto the floor. “Shit, what time is it?”

“Half-past two,” Chan replied.

“Fuuuuuck!” Hyunjin hollered, rolling off Chan’s lap and standing up to fix his clothes, which had gotten all bunched up around him and wrinkled. “My shift starts at three! And I still have to go home, get changed, and _shit_ , I skated here. I don’t even have my car. I am _fucked_.”

Chan laughed gently. “Don’t worry, I’ll drive you. We’ll swing by your place on the way.”

Hyunjin huffed a sigh of relief. “Channie, you’re a lifesaver. Come on, let’s go! There’s no time to waste.”

Chan started for the door while Hyunjin hurriedly gathered his things—his hoodie, house keys, skateboard, beanie, all strewn around Changbin’s apartment. They said quick good-byes and made their way out, and only once they were both gone did Jisung notice that Hyunjin had forgotten his vape, left lying on the coffee table, hidden behind Felix’s bong. He picked it up and flipped it over in his fingers, studying it.

“I guess I’ll have to give this to him next time I see him,” Jisung muttered.

“Until then, it’s ours,” Minho said mischievously, snatching it out of Jisung’s hand and taking a hit from it. After blowing the smoke out, he hummed. “Huh. Not bad. I should get one of these, maybe it’ll get me off cigs. Don’t the kids call these somethin’ funky these days? What was it . . .”

Jisung looked at him, perplexed. “I thought it was just called a ‘vape’?”

“Choof,” said Felix.

“Bless you,” said Jisung.

Felix snorted. “No, I mean, I’ve heard people calling those ‘choofs’ before. I don’t know why. It seems people can’t be satisfied calling things what they are, even when the word is short. There’s always gotta be a slang term.”

“That is probably _the_ dumbest slang term I’ve ever heard,” Jisung mumbled.

Minho chuckled and got up from the couch. “Well, before Hyunjin comes back looking for his ‘choof,’ shall we go? I was gonna hit the gym anyway.”

Jisung nodded and stood up, following after Minho toward the door. As he passed him, Felix grasped his wrist tightly and blubbered, “W-Wait, wh-where are you going? You’re leaving?”

Jisung turned to Felix, sitting awkwardly next to Changbin, who was looking away. Felix seemed to have made the connection that once Jisung and Minho leave, he will be alone with Changbin, in his house, and for some reason, that seemed to terrify him. 

Jisung smiled and said, with a wink, “We should be heading home. You stay. Enjoy yourselves.”

Felix looked at Changbin, then looked away. Changbin looked at Felix, then looked away. Felix gulped, and slowly, he nodded. 

Jisung and Minho bid their farewells and left, making the short trek back to their apartment, Jisung beelining for the kitchen to grab the box of Lucky Charms before going to lie down on the couch. Minho disappeared into his room, returning minutes later wearing a sleeveless shirt and nylon sweat pants and a bandana around his head. As he made for the foyer, he slowly wrapped blue boxing tape around his hands, then sat down to pull his sneakers on.

“Boxing?” Jisung asked absently, munching on dry cereal.

Minho nodded, then glanced pointedly at the Lucky Charms. “Don’t eat _all_ the marshmallows, this time. Pour yourself a bowl, like a human.”

“Sure thing, Dad,” Jisung said mockingly, getting off the couch to go get a bowl. When he reached the kitchen, he was attacked from behind, Minho throwing himself around him and near-piggybacking him, making Jisung startle and drop the cereal box. He spun around and stared at Minho, shocked. “Jesus! You scared me!”

Minho giggled cutely and gave him a small peck on the lips. “Bye-bye. I’ll be back before dark. Text me if you want me to bring home dinner.”

Jisung sighed, giving a small smile. “Yeah, okay. Work up a sweat.”

“Give ‘em Hell,” said Minho, winking, as he fit his AirPods into his ears and made his way out the door.

Jisung chuckled to himself and rolled his eyes. He went up to the cupboards and reached to grab a bowl, but as his hand grasped the porcelain, a thought occurred to him. In this moment, he was granted a rare moment alone, with Minho gone and no-one around. He thought about the conversation he’d had with Chan, Changbin, and Felix earlier, and the tips they’d given him. He thought, if there was ever a chance to do some ‘studying,’ it was now.

He closed the cupboard and abandoned the cereal box on the counter, heading into his bedroom and shutting the door behind him. He propped up the pillows on his bed and leaned against them, placing his laptop on his legs and opening an incognito tab. He started simple, typing ‘How To Give A Blowjob’ into the search bar, clicking on an article from Cosmopolitan magazine. He skimmed through it, finding the offered information more-or-less unhelpful. The ‘advice’ wasn’t practical, telling him _what_ to do but not _how_ to do it, and the whole article was assuming he was a woman, so he found it hard to relate to—not that he could relate to giving blowjobs, anyway. 

He tried several different articles, but they were all useless, so Jisung looked to other means. He’d always been more of a visual learner, so he defaulted to the always-trustworthy PornHub, but unlike any of the past times he’d visited the site, he sought out the corner he’d never before been interested in. He scrolled through the ‘Gay’ category, looking for something detailed and informative, eventually choosing a video titled ‘Twink Wants My Cum Down His Pretty Throat.’ Jisung had no idea what a ‘twink’ was, but he figured it probably didn’t matter—it was the blowjob itself he was interested to see, he didn’t care who was performing it.

When the video started, Jisung leaned forward and studied it closely. The ‘twink’ was a skinny white boy who had hair like Minho, and he was knelt before a muscled, older-looking guy with a well-kempt beard. The older guy had quite a big dick, likely the size of Minho’s, or perhaps even bigger. No, definitely bigger, but the twink wasn’t scared of it, rather he seemed enamored with it, in the way Minho had been all over Jisung’s last night. Jisung could feel himself getting hard already, but he ignored it. This wasn’t about that. This was purely for educational purposes, not for pleasure or getting off. He wanted to actually _learn_ something.

Jisung watched intently, watched the twink slowly swirl his tongue around the other man’s cock, slathering it in spit, before suckling on the tip, his eyes pointed lustfully upward. Jisung was reminded of the night before, of Minho’s sweet, dark-chocolate eyes gazing at him as he swallowed every inch of his dick, and he remembered the way Minho had used every weapon in his arsenal—his lips, his tongue, his throat, applying kisses and licks and suction everywhere it was needed, not excluding a single spot. 

He slapped himself. He was getting distracted from the task at hand. Grudgingly, he stared at the screen, taking note of the way the twink moved slowly, his touches featherlight, and he remembered Chan’s advice of ‘less is more.’ He focused on the way the twink twisted his head left and right, the way he didn’t swallow a single drop of his spit, using all of it to coat the older man’s cock, giving the surface of it a reflective sheen. Jisung also noted that since the twink was unable to get the entire length into his mouth, he used his hand to stroke the area at the base that he couldn’t reach, leaving no spot lonely—just as Minho had done.

Jisung inhaled sharply through his teeth. His dick _ached_ , hard and twitching in his pants, begging for attention, and he couldn’t ignore it any longer. He slowly slid his hand down to caress the bulge in his overalls, giving it a squeeze and making himself hiss. It was unfortunate he was wearing overalls, as that made it exponentially more difficult to jack off, but he figured he’d be changing into pajamas soon, anyway. But, just as he slipped one strap off his shoulder, he heard the front door unlock.

“Jisung? I’m home! I brought sushi!” Minho called from the foyer.

Had it been that long already? He cursed quietly, closing his laptop and calling back, “Yup, just getting changed!”

He got up and quickly changed into sweat pants, trying to tuck his boner away so Minho wouldn’t notice it, as he wasn’t too keen on explaining why he was horny. Satisfied, he exited his bedroom, finding Minho laid out on the couch with take-out sushi on his lap.

“You didn’t have cereal?” Minho asked him.

“Huh? Oh, n-no, I thought I’d wait for dinner,” Jisung bluffed.

Minho nodded. “I wasn’t sure what you like so I played it safe. I got you some California rolls and miso soup. Is that okay?”

“That’s great, thanks.” Jisung smiled and picked up his food, his stomach growling. He popped a roll into his mouth and chewed it slowly. Then, his nose twitched, so he looked at Minho, at his dirty socks that he had propped up on the couch cushions, and he complained, “Ugh, go wash your feet. They smell like cheese.”

“Oh, do they?” Minho teased, pointing his toe and shoving his foot in Jisung’s face. He laughed as Jisung wrenched his head away and scowled at him, but what Minho didn’t know was that Jisung was actually thankful for Minho’s stinky feet, as they’d done an excellent job of getting rid of his boner. But he kept that little fact to himself.

Still, Minho complied with his order, getting up and leaving his take-out on the table. As he walked toward the hallway, stripping off his socks, Jisung asked, “Where are you going?”

“To wash my feet,” Minho answered simply, with a cheeky grin.

Jisung smiled and rolled his eyes, watching him go. It felt good being the only one Minho would let order him around. He returned after several minutes, sticking his foot in Jisung’s face again so he could see it’d been dutifully cleaned, and now smelled like lavender soap. And still a little bit like cheese.

_Ah_ , Jisung thought, _domestic bliss_.


	13. Bad Guy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> I seem to have gotten my fire back! I'm so happy I was able to get this chapter out quickly. It took a little longer than expected, because this chapter is THE longest one yet, at 42 pages and almost 12,000 words. Holy shit! I didn't expect it to be this long, but it ended up that way, so here you go! Take it as a special treat, and an apology for taking so long last time.
> 
> Also, OOF, this chapter gets very, very saucy. I didn't expect it to be quite so dirty but um, again, it ended up that way. Hope you're all ready :)
> 
> Aaaas always, be sure to follow me on Twitter (@/reineard, notifications on!) for announcements, updates, bonus content, and exclusive sneak peeks. Also, check out the Molasses in the Sky playlists on Spotify and YouTube. Links to both playlists can be found in my pinned tweet on Twitter :)
> 
> Let me know what you think about this chapter down below! Your comments keep me passionate and give me motivation when I'm lacking it. I always go back to read them when I'm looking for inspiration. This little story is close to 7,000 hits and 400 kudos, and that is INCREDIBLE! Thank you all so much for your support and I hope you enjoy this chapter :)
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "Bad Guy" by Billie Eilish!
> 
> Happy reading~

_Bruises on both my knees for you, don’t say thank-you,_  
_Oh please, I do what I want when I’m wanting to._

Jisung had stayed up far too late the night before. At the time, he hadn’t thought it would matter—eight o’clock isn’t _that_ early, anyway, right? He’d made the same mistake countless times, yet he’d never seemed to learn his lesson. That lesson was taught to him once again, when he was jiggled awake by Minho at ass-o’clock in the morning, the grey sunlight outside his window being the first indicator that nobody in their right mind should be waking up this early. He could hear birds tweeting and, louder than that, the sound of Minho breathing heavily into his ear, coating it in moist humidity.

“Egh, cut it out,” he mumbled into his pillow, swatting at Minho’s face.

Minho giggled. “Get up. Hyunjin’s picking us up soon, we have to get dressed. We’re heading to Sacramento today, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jisung muttered. “Five more minutes.”

Minho appeared to allow him that, as he wordlessly got out of bed and left the room. Jisung sighed contentedly and curled into the blankets, blissfully slipping back into dreamland. His voyage was interrupted, however, when something heavy and clawed was dropped on top of him, something that made a shrill _rrrow!_ noise into his ear. Jisung startled, fully awake, and turned over to come face-to-face with Dori, Minho’s grey cat. 

Jisung looked up incredulously at Minho, who was grinning evilly. “Did you just drop _a cat_ on me?”

“Get _up_ ,” Minho ordered, gingerly picking Dori up and cradling her in his arms.

“Okay, okay, _fine_ , I’m up,” Jisung grumbled, sitting straight and scowling at Minho. He crawled out from the covers, his bare legs immediately feeling the chill, but he still took a moment to give Dori’s head a scratch before opening his drawer and pulling out fresh underwear and a pair of sweats. As he hooked his thumbs beneath the elastic of his boxers, he noticed Minho was still standing there, with a bare chest and pinstripe legs, staring at him. Jisung glanced at him and said, “Uh, d’you mind?”

Minho grinned. “No, I don’t. I like the view. Besides, I’ve seen your dick before, anyway.”

“Yes, but, when he’s not standing tall and proud, he’s very shy,” Jisung told him, “so go away. You need to get changed.”

“Okay,” Minho complied. He took a couple steps forward to give Jisung a quick good-morning kiss, then left the room, Dori’s big eyes watching him from over Minho’s shoulder until he was out of sight.

Jisung quickly changed into new boxers and black sweats, pulling a plain grey t-shirt and a white hoodie over top. He’d packed all his pairs of contacts along with the rest of his stuff the night before, so he put glasses and a beanie on his head. When he was done, he brought his duffel bag out to the living room and put on retro Vans. Minho came out of his room, his own bag in hand, wearing an oversized green hoodie and slim black jeans. He went to the foyer to put on black runners, and just then, their doorbell buzzed.

Minho pressed the intercom. “Who is it?”

A voice Jisung didn’t recognize crackled through the speakers. “Hey, Reno, it’s me. You asked me to take care of the cats while you’re gone?”

“Oh, yeah. Come in,” Minho answered, and buzzed the person inside.

Minutes later, a knock sounded at the door, and it was opened to reveal someone Jisung had never met. He was a fairly tall man roughly Minho’s age, wearing a floral button-up top and a dark-chocolate blazer, tight jeans, and brown ankle boots. He was clean-shaven, with his hair gelled to the side and a single dangly earring hanging halfway down his neck. Jisung wondered how and why anyone could be so well-dressed this early in the morning, and when he looked down at his own clothes, he felt like a slob.

“Hey, girl, hey,” said the man as he embraced Minho in a short hug. Then, he turned to Jisung, and his eyes changed. “Well, _hello_. Who’s this hottie?”

Jisung, confused, pointed a finger at himself as if to say, ‘Me?’ Minho gave the man a playful glare and asserted, “Paws off, he’s mine. This is Peter. Peter, this is Hayden, he’s my coworker at the club.”

“Oh, so this is _the_ Peter?” Hayden mused while taking a few steps closer to Jisung. “So you finally bagged him, eh? Wait, I recognize you. Didn’t you perform at Back Door that one time?”

Jisung smirked. “Yeah, that was me, J.ONE.”

Hayden’s jaw dropped open. “Oh, my God, you are _so_ hot. Reno! You didn’t tell me your Peter was the _Often_ guy!”

“Sorry, must’ve slipped my mind,” Minho said dryly. “Now, stop drooling and c’mere, I’ll show you where I keep the cat food.”

Minho brought Hayden to the kitchen cupboard that was stacked with cat food of all varieties, so full of goodies that two cans toppled out and rolled across the floor as soon as he opened it. Minho collected the wayward cans and replaced them, then directed Hayden to the area where the cats’ bowls were on the floor. 

“Each cat gets her own bowls, they have their names on them so you shouldn’t mix them up,” he explained. “The red bowls are Soonie’s, the yellow ones are Doongie’s, and the blue ones are Dori’s. The small bowls are for wet food, and the big bowls are for dry food. There are also three metal bowls for water. Dry food bowls should be kept half-full at all times, the cats will eat when they want to. Water bowls should always be full, and they should be fed half a can of wet food twice a day, once in the morning and once at night. The bowls also need to be cleaned daily.”

Hayden chuckled, and sarcastically asked, “Anything else?”

“Yes,” said Minho, not catching his sarcasm. “Each cat gets one of these chicken treats a day, in the morning, only _after_ they’ve finished their wet food. They will beg, but don’t give them more than one. They will also beg for human food, _do not_ give them any.”

“Okay. Is that all?” Hayden asked, sarcastically again.

“No,” Minho said. He picked up the bag of chicken treats and shook it, summoning all three cats to come running to the kitchen and circle around his feet. He put the bag away and picked Soonie up. “This fat orange one is Soonie. The other fat orange one, the one that’s more white, is Doongie. The grey one is Dori. Their litter box is in the bathroom and needs to be cleaned two-to-three times a day, depending how much they shit.”

Hayden nodded. “Got it. There’s more, isn’t there?”

“Yes,” Minho went on. “Soonie likes to cuddle a lot so she’ll be on your lap as soon as you sit down. Doongie probably doesn’t like you, but don’t take it personally, she doesn’t like anyone. Dori usually gets rambunctious at night so it’s best to play with her until she tires out. Also, Doongie likes to steal the others’ wet food, so you should lock her in one of the other rooms while you feed Soonie and Dori and feed her once they’re done.”

“I’ll try to remember all that,” Hayden mumbled, scratching the back of his neck. Jisung felt bad for him—the poor guy had no idea of the huge mantle he’d taken by agreeing to care for Minho’s babies. 

Minho smiled. “Don’t worry, I wrote it all down. The list is on the fridge. Oh, one last thing. Peter’s bedroom is the first door on the right down the hall, and he keeps his underwear in the top drawer.”

“Good to know.” Hayden laughed.

Jisung snorted and rolled his eyes. Minho gave Soonie several kisses before putting her down, then picked up Dori and kissed her as well. He attempted to pick up Doongie, but to no avail. He said his goodbyes to the cats before turning back to Hayden. “Thanks for doing this, man. Make sure to take good care of them, and give them lots of love. And if anything happens to any one of them, I will kill you. No hesitation.”

“Don’t worry, they’ll be well taken care of,” Hayden promised. “Have fun on your trip, and happy birthday! And hey, try not to have _too_ much sex at the cabin, alright? Peter seems to like sitting down, don’t take that away from him.”

Minho laughed adamantly at that, while Jisung cocked an eyebrow, confused. “Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Minho replied, sharing a sly look with Hayden.

Jisung was definitely getting the sense there was some joke he was being left out of, but before he could think much about it, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out to see a text from Hyunjin.

10월 24일, 8:12 오전  
내가 왔어~~ (I’m here~~)  
밖으로 나와라 (Come outside)

“Our ride’s here,” Jisung announced. Minho nodded, said good-bye to Hayden, then they grabbed their bags and made their way out to the sidewalk. Hyunjin’s car was parked out front, rock music blasting from inside and Jeongin sitting in the passenger’s seat. 

As he climbed in the back, Jisung clapped the younger one on the shoulders and asked, “Jeonginnie’s riding with us this time?”

“Yeah. It was gonna be Felix, but he spent the night at Changbin’s, so it was easier for Chan to pick both of them up after getting Seungmin,” explained Hyunjin. “Therefore, I grabbed Jeongin before coming for you two.”

Minho’s brows went up slightly. “Oh, Felix slept over at Changbin’s last night? Why?”

Hyunjin grinned. “Obviously so they could dance the sideways tango. Y’know, some quality adult naptime, afternoon delight, assault with a friendly weapon, bam-bam in the ham, bumpin’ uglies, cave-diving, forbidden polka—”

“Yeah, alright, we get it,” Jisung stopped him, shuddering. “I’m happy for them, but I don’t want to imagine it.”

Hyunjin scoffed. “Suit yourself. I want every, gritty detail as soon as I see them. Felix deserves only the very best, so I must be sure that Changbin is up to scratch.”

“Are you sure you’re straight?” Jisung asked dubiously. Hyunjin simply grinned at him in the rear-view mirror.

“Wait, hold on, pause,” Minho interjected, “Felix is fucking Changbin? When did that happen?”

“Where the fuck have you been?” Hyunjin huffed. “They’ve been crushing on each other for a while. Keep up, dude.”

Minho had nothing to say to that, so he just shrugged and looked distantly out the window. Hyunjin pulled a pack of smokes out of the glove compartment and opened it, and he mumbled, “I fuckin’ lost my vape, so I’m back to this until I can get a new one. Sorry, Jeongin, I know you hate the smell. I’ll open the window.”

Jisung leaned forward and held out the gold vape pen that Hyunjin had carelessly left at Changbin’s the day before. “You mean this vape?”

Hyunjin screeched gleefully and snatched it from his hand. “You found it! God, bless you, you fuckin’ saint!”

He tossed the cigarette pack back into the glove compartment and happily sucked a hit from his vape, then turned onto the road and drove to the nearest McDonald’s drive-thru, ordering an array of McMuffins and coffees and, at Jisung’s request, extra hashbrowns. Once they got their food, Hyunjin parked for a moment to pass the sandwiches out—sausage for Minho and Jisung, bacon for himself, and ham for Jeongin. Then, it was back on the road, along the I-405 until it merged onto the I-5, the long stretch of interstate that would take them all the way to Sacramento. After about half an hour of driving, Jisung felt his eyelids get heavy, so he laid his head against the window, and at some point, he fell asleep.

***

“Jisung? Jisung? Wakey-wakey!” A voice called to him, slipping into his subconscious and rousing him from his rest. He stirred, groaning as he squeezed open his eyes and massaged the pain in his neck, looking blearily around himself, out the windows at his unfamiliar surroundings. They were parked outside a brown, three-storey building, and the only thing he recognized was Chan’s truck parked next to them. 

“Ah-ha! He’s alive!”

Jisung looked at Minho, the one who’d spoken, and blinked a couple times. “What time is it? Where are we?”

Minho chuckled. “Sacramento, silly. This is the hotel, you slept through the whole trip. It’s about two o’clock, now.”

“Oh. Sweet,” Jisung mumbled, sitting up straight and stretching out his back. He undid his seatbelt and crawled out of the car, where Hyunjin and Jeongin were waiting, leaning against the hood. 

“You finally got him up? It’s about time,” Hyunjin remarked. “I thought you might’ve died or somethin’.”

Jisung chuckled sleepily. “I was gone, that’s for sure. Like, I was in another _realm_. I don’t even remember falling asleep.”

Minho came up behind him and slung an arm around his shoulders. “Alright, sleepyhead. Let’s go check-in, I think the others have already found their rooms.”

Jisung followed them inside to the front desk, where Hyunjin handled the check-in and handed them their room keys. Felix had managed to score four rooms all in one row on the second floor, and at a relatively cheap price, too. They made their way upstairs with their bags and Minho swiped their room card, opening the door to reveal a cozy and nicely-accommodated space, with yellow wall lamps and framed pictures of flowers, a king-sized bed with red silken throws, a separate living area with a couch and an armchair, and a bathroom stocked with ready-to-steal mini shampoos and soaps. 

Minho dropped his bag on the floor and threw himself onto the bed, stuffing his face into the plush pillows and rolling over the covers, bouncing up and down and filling the room with the loud creaking of the bedsprings. He sat up and bounced a couple more times, scowling at the noise it made.

“This would be an _awful_ bed to have sex in,” he commented, “we’d keep the neighbours up the whole damn night. Normally, I couldn’t give two shits, but unfortunately, our neighbour is Hyunjin.”

Jisung chuckled. “Darn. I guess we’ll have to wait until we get to the cabin, then.”

He walked to the bed and sat next to Minho, tucking his head into the crook of his neck and letting Minho wrap an arm around him, letting himself be held, sighing softly into his skin. Minho’s body was like a furnace, warm and comfortable, and when Jisung rested in his space it felt like nothing else could touch him, or even come close. 

Minho rested his head on Jisung’s and rubbed his hand up and down his back. “What do you want to do today? Do you want to sleep some more?”

“Hmm. Well, I could always nap,” Jisung thought, “but what do you want to do?”

Minho shrugged gently. “I’d like to explore Sacramento a bit, if you’re up for that. I’ve never been here, so I thought we could walk around downtown, or something like that.”

Jisung nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, that sounds cool. Let’s steal Hyunjin’s car, I’m sure he won’t mind too much.”

They got up and grabbed anything they’d need for exploring—phones, room keys, wallets—then headed into the hallway, stopping quickly at Hyunjin’s room and knocking obnoxiously on the door. When he answered it, he had a grouchy expression, and instead of saying anything he just stared at them with his eyebrows raised questioningly.

“What’s with your face? You look like the Grinch,” Minho said.

Before Hyunjin could respond, Jisung stepped in. “Can we have your car keys? We’re going to look around downtown.”

“Let me get this straight,” Hyunjin began, “you come banging on my door, disturbing my peace and serenity, then you insult me and ask to borrow my car? Fuck no.”

Jisung feigned a look of remorse and hugged him, gazing sweetly into his eyes. “We’re sorry, Hyunjinnie. Pleeease? It would be _such_ a long walk along the highway to get downtown.”

“Fine. But _I’m_ driving, I want to look around, too,” Hyunjin declared, shooing Jisung away from him. Then, he turned back into the room and called out, “Innie, you wanna come?”

Jeongin came bouncing up behind Hyunjin with an excited look in his eyes. “Come where?”

“Downtown,” Hyunjin said.

“Okay!”

“Well, fuck, we might as well _all_ go, then,” Minho muttered. “What are the others doing?”

“I think Chan said he was working on the song, Seungmin’s napping,” Hyunjin recounted, “and I don’t know what Felix and Changbin are up to, but I don’t _want_ to know. So fuck ‘em, we’ll see ‘em later.”

Minho shrugged, and they walked together back to Hyunjin’s car. It was a quick drive to the Downtown Sacramento area, the interstate running along the river, sparkling and slow-moving water on one side of them and tall, vibrant buildings on the other. Downtown was a hub bustling with pedestrians and traffic, busy with Saturday energy despite the colder weather, streets lined with offices and coffee shops and clothing stores, restaurants with lineups out the door and transit vehicles carrying bodies packed like sardines. Hyunjin managed to find a parking space after several circles around the block, and once he turned the engine off he climbed out of the car and went to stand in front of the meter.

“Ew, the parking prices here are dreadful,” he complained, and when Minho approached, he asked, “Do you have any spare change?”

“I think so.” Minho took his wallet out and shook it next to his ear, the coins inside jingling against each other. He took out a handful of quarters and held them out for Hyunjin to take as he pleased. The coins were deposited into the meter until they had close to two hours of parking, then they started on their way down the street, their heads swiveling left and right to take in all the new surroundings.

“Shall we get some goodies for the walk?” Jisung suggested as a bakery called _Wallflour_ came up on their right. The others nodded, so he held the door open while they filtered in, and he followed closely behind. 

The smell of fresh-baked bread hung in the air, along with a sweetness that was heavy like melted butter and the pang of ground coffee beans. There was ample seating space, most of it occupied by people amidst pleasant afternoon conversation or working tirelessly on their computers. Soft café jazz played from the overhead speakers, and they were welcomed warmly by the lady at the till, who had long braided hair and a friendly smile, her lips a bright pink that contrasted prettily against her dark skin. 

“What can I get for you guys?” she asked. Her nametag read ‘Aria.’

Hyunjin looked around himself like a kid in a candy store, his eyes perusing the menu and the pastries laid out on the counter. He said, “Uhh, I’m not sure. What would you recommend?”

“Mm, well, my personal favourites are the chocolate croissants and the cheese scones,” she told him, “and I’m not really a coffee person, so I usually go for our teas. We have a wide array of tea options, all loose-leaf and fresh-steeped as soon as you order.”

Hyunjin seemed to like the sound of that. He decided, “All right, I’ll go with a butter croissant, aaaaand a vanilla rooibos tea, please.”

She punched his order in. “Great! And what can I get for the rest of you gentlemen?”

“I need coffee, so I’ll get an americano. Black, strong,” Jisung ordered. “And as for food, I’ll go with the cheese scone.”

Jeongin went with the same tea as Hyunjin and a chocolate croissant, and Minho decided on green tea and a brownie. They stood aside to wait for their order, and when it came, they collected the items and thanked the lady, making their way out the door and back onto the busy streets. They walked along, past numerous storefronts, looking in the windows at the colourful outfits and fun trinkets on display, eyes wide as though they were children who’d never seen the light of day before. 

Eventually, they came across a tourist store, full of must-haves for travel, postcards, knickknacks, and every single thing imaginable that could possibly have the words ‘Sacramento’ or ‘California’ written on them, including shirts, mugs, and license plates. Hyunjin got excited and skipped his way inside the store, zipping about like the Roadrunner, looking at every shelf, picking things up and inspecting them, touching every object within his reach. The others followed after him, glancing around calmly while pretending they’d never met him before.

Hyunjin ended up at the shirt rack, finding a hideous white t-shirt with the words ‘I ❤️ SACRAMENTO’ written on it, and he took it off the rack with a gleeful noise. He brought it over to show Jisung, squealing, “Look! Look what I found! I can add this to my collection!”

“That’s great, good for you Jinnie,” Jisung said patronizingly. Hyunjin had an odd habit of collecting ‘I ❤️’ shirts from around the world, even though they were the ugliest pieces of clothing known to man and he almost never wore any of them, for obvious reasons.

Jeongin was browsing the mugs, cups, and shot glasses, all grouped together on one shelf and all of them tacky, all solid colours with California-based decals on them, like the bear from the flag or sandy beaches and surf. He seemed to take a liking to one mug—the least abhorrent of them—a black one with ‘Sacramento, California, 1850’ inscribed in white letters on the side. He picked it up off the shelf and held onto it, bringing it with him while he explored the rest of the store.

Jisung left Hyunjin to fawn over his ugly t-shirt and went to find Minho, who was looking at a rack of keychains with names on them, names like ‘Adam’ and ‘Josh’ and ‘Carly.’ He was scowling at the options for ‘M,’ which, as expected, did not include his own name. 

“They never have ‘Minho.’ This is discrimination,” he complained, crossing his arms.

“They do in Korea,” Jisung offered in consolation, “and hey, if we ever go to Nevada, I’m sure we’ll find plenty of stuff with ‘Reno’ written on it.”

Minho hummed, dissatisfied. Then, something caught his eyes, and he picked one of the keychains off the rack. “Look, they have ‘Peter.’ It’s your lucky day.”

Jisung took it from him and looked at it. Like everything else in the store, it was tacky, flimsy and made of rubber, but still, it was a novelty, and inexpensive, so he decided to keep it with him. One of the store clerks seemed to overhear them speaking in a foreign language, as her eyes flickered up and she stared at them for a moment before making her way over.

“Hi, guys, can I help you with anything?” she asked kindly.

Minho smiled at her. “I don’t think so, we’re just looking around. But thank you.”

She nodded, then asked, “Are you guys visiting, or are you from around here?”

“We’re from Korea, but currently we’re studying at UCLA,” Jisung answered. “This is our first time in Sacramento.”

“Oh, wow, Los Angeles! Yeah, it’s super nice over there,” she commented. “Well, welcome to Sacramento. Let me know if I can help you with anything.”

They nodded, and she went to help another customer. Minho started wandering further into the store, so Jisung followed him curiously, wondering what he was sniffing out. He stopped at a shelf next to the front counter, picking up a Polaroid camera and turning it over in his hand.

“This would be good to have for our trip, right?” Minho mentioned, and Jisung nodded along. He held onto the camera and picked up a couple extra rolls of film, then brought it to the counter. Jeongin and Hyunjin joined them in the lineup, and they all paid for their trinkets before leaving the store. 

Hyunjin, ever the shameless one, unzipped his hoodie and removed his shirt as soon as they got outside so he could change into his new purchase, which definitely garnered a few stares from passers-by. He stuffed his old shirt into his bag and put his hoodie back on, leaving it unzipped. While he did all this, Jisung, Minho, and Jeongin kept walking as though they didn’t know him.

Next, they came upon a store called _NXNW Vapor_ , which Minho stopped in front of, looking up at the sign in thought. Hyunjin caught up to them and looked at Minho, then at the store, then back at Minho. He asked, “Are you gonna buy a vape?”

“I dunno. Maybe. I’ve been thinking about it, y’know, ‘cause I should be getting off cigs,” Minho said. 

“Well, let’s go in. Maybe you’ll find something you like,” Hyunjin suggested. “I am the vape master, after all, so I’ll tell you what’s what.”

Minho snorted and rolled his eyes, opening the door and walking inside. Jisung followed him and looked around, at all the glass containers filled with vape pens on display, and the shelves with rows upon rows upon rows of different juices. There was a single clerk behind the counter, a young man with a beanie and a lip piercing, and after he welcomed them he, as per custom, asked to see their IDs, which they gladly showed him. 

“What can I get you guys? Are you just browsing, or are you looking for something specific?” the clerk asked.

“Just browsing,” answered Hyunjin, putting his hands on Minho’s shoulders. “See, my friend here is trying to kick cigarettes. It’s a bad habit, y’know? So, we’re just here to see if anything catches his eye.”

Minho shook him off and shot him a look. Then he turned to the clerk and said, “I’d like something that feels like a cigarette, but obviously isn’t. Got anything like that?”

“Oh, for sure, man,” replied the clerk, coming out from behind the counter. “There are plenty of vape models that are long and thin and do not have fire buttons. First, we have the Juul—”

“Do _not_ buy a Juul,” Hyunjin interrupted. “Juuls are the spawns of Satan, they’re the iPhones of vapes.”

Minho glanced at him pointedly. “You _have_ an iPhone.”

“That’s not the point,” Hyunjin argued, “if you buy a Juul I will literally never speak to you again.”

“Oh, well, in _that_ case,” Minho turned back to the clerk, “how much for the Juul?”

Hyunjin grasped his wrist with both hands and bent down pleadingly. “No, seriously, don’t! They suck! Get something by Smok, their products are actually good. Juuls aren’t worth it.”

The clerk just stood by watching this happen, unable to get a word in. Minho sighed heavily and nodded, patting Hyunjin’s hands. “Alright, alright, fine. You got anything by, uh, ‘Smoke’?”

“ _Smok_ ,” Hyunjin corrected.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Minho huffed.

The clerk nodded awkwardly. “Um, yeah, we’ve got lots of Smok vapes. If you’re looking for something akin to a cigarette, I’d recommend the Smok Infinix. It’s a great product with a long battery life, a rich flavour ecosystem, and ease of portability.”

He pointed out the vape in question, on display in one of the glass cases. Minho nodded slowly and said, “Okay, all that you said about it means nothing to me, but I like the look of it. How much?”

“The kit will cost you thirty dollars, and it comes with the pen, the charging cable, a user manual, and two replacement pods,” said the clerk. “You’ll have to purchase your own juice, and I would also recommend getting some extra pods now, just so you won’t have to do so later.”

Minho looked at him, puzzled. “What are the pods for?”

“You’re hopeless. What are you even doing here?” Hyunjin muttered. “So, in order to turn into vapour, the juice has to filter through what’s called a ‘coil.’ The coil is in the pod. Over time, due to being subjected to heat, the coils, which are made with cotton, burn out. Burnt coils taste like shit, so you have to change them.”

Minho hummed, tapping his chin. “Okay, so, not only do I have to buy new juice all the time, but I also have to replace the pods? So, it’s really not any cheaper than buying cigarettes, is it?”

“No, it’s not. But it is better for you. Maybe,” Hyunjin said. Then, he thought about it, and added, “Actually, no, probably not.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’ll take it.”

“Great,” said the clerk, who was probably just happy this was coming to an end. He went back behind the counter and took out three different kits, presenting them to Minho. “There are three colours available: Red, blue, and gunmetal, which is basically dark grey. Which one would you like?”

Minho considered it. He turned to Hyunjin and asked, “What colour is yours, again?”

Hyunjin took his vape out of his pocket. “Well, mine isn’t an Infinix. I have the Nfix, which has more colours. So mine’s champagne gold.”

“Huh,” Minho mused. “Alright, I’ll get gunmetal, then.”

“Sick,” said the clerk, “and what juice can I get for you?”

Minho looked, daunted, at the wide array of juice bottles on the shelves behind him. He scratched the back of his neck and asked, “Uhh, what flavours are there?”

“Well, we have quite the variety. Nicotine levels range from zero to fifty, we have juices with menthol and those without, and as far as flavours, anywhere from pure tobacco to fruity to totally flavour _less_ ,” the clerk racked off. 

Minho stalled, completely out of his element. Hyunjin stepped in and said, “You know what? We’re gonna be here all day. He’ll get lemon menthol, fifty nic, and a pack of replacement pods. Thank you.”

“You think that’ll be good?” Minho asked him.

“Yeah. If you’re trying to get off cigs, you need a strong flavour and a high nic level. You can slowly lower the nic as you go on until you depend on it less,” Hyunjin explained.

“Okay, is that everything for you?” the clerk confirmed. Minho nodded, so he went on, “That’ll be $93.47, please.”

Minho’s eyes widened. “Fuckin’ Hell. Alright, whatever.”

He tapped his card, and the clerk bid them farewell as he took his purchases and they made their way out. Hyunjin found them a bench to sit on, and he helped Minho set up his new vape, filling the pod with juice and connecting it to the mod, handing it to Minho ready-to-fire. Minho took it and hit it, inhaling the smoke and tasting it, then blowing it out with a satisfied nod.

“How is it?” Jisung asked him, staring at it like it was made of gold.

“Good. Very minty. I like it,” said Minho, with a smile. He kept it in his hand and put the rest of the stuff in his bag, then took out the Polaroid camera he’d bought and hung it around his neck.

They continued on their way, popping into store after store just for the sake of looking around, but it ended up turning into a shopping spree. Jisung bought himself a new pair of pants, a jacket, and a couple hats; Hyunjin purchased an expensive pair of shoes and a phone case; Jeongin bought a few pairs of funky socks and some sets of cute stickers; and Minho got himself some rings, a bracelet, and a cool graphic t-shirt. Minho also stopped by a makeup store to buy a deep red lipstick, and when Jisung asked him why he got it, he said it was a secret.

By the time they had grown tired and had both hands full of bags of their treasures, the sun had started to set, twilight resting upon the glowing city and making the streetlamps turn on. While they were stopped at an intersection on the way back to Hyunjin’s car, Jisung looked up in awe at one of the tall buildings, one that had colour-changing strobe lights shining up at the walls, painting them in shades of blue, purple, red, pink, and green. He heard the _snap!_ of a shutter go off, and looked in surprise to see Minho holding up his Polaroid camera, watching it spit out a picture. He waited for it to develop, then showed it to Jisung.

“Wow. That’s a nice one,” he said, inspecting it. The photo had caught him looking up with wonder in his eyes and a small smile on his lips, his face painted a faint splash of blue. 

“It’s cute. I’m keeping it,” Minho said, taking it back and putting it in his pocket. 

Jisung smiled a little to himself. Something about Minho keeping a candid photo of him in his back pocket made his heart do strange things and his stomach feel like it was filled with butterflies. He thought about it all the way to Hyunjin’s car, and he was still thinking about it long after they’d gotten back to the hotel, sticking in the back of his mind like peanut butter on the roof of his mouth.

***

10월 24일, 7:13 오후  
우린 저녁 먹으러 가 (We’re going for dinner)  
오고 있어? (You coming?)

When he’d received the text from Chan, he’d quickly responded ‘Yeah!’ and had started getting ready. He’d changed into slim blue jeans with rips at the knees, a plain white t-shirt, a black blazer, and platform Doc Martens. Minho got a little more dressed up, with a white collared shirt underneath a black sweater, black jeans, a long black peacoat, and white sneakers. They piled back into Hyunjin’s car, which followed after Chan’s truck. They were headed to a place called Club Pheasant, a long-standing Italian restaurant that Chan had said he’d heard very good things about. It was only a short drive to get there, and once they’d parked, they made their way inside and were seated immediately thanks to Seungmin’s genius decision to reserve a table.

Jisung and Minho took their seats first, followed by Chan, Seungmin, Jeongin, and Hyunjin. Changbin pulled out a chair for Felix before sitting down himself, and Felix, unthinking, plopped himself down in his chair a little too hard, and his face immediately twisted up in pain. He clenched his fists and let out a shuddering breath, then relaxed, Changbin patting him softly on the back.

“Jeez, you okay man?” Jisung asked, laughing a little. “What happened? You tweak your back or something?”

Felix thrust his thumb at Changbin. “ _He_ happened. I’m all good, just these chairs are not cushioned enough at all. I should’ve brought my own pillow.”

Jisung wiggled his butt around on his seat, feeling the cushion. “The chair’s fine to me. What the Hell did you do to him, Bin?”

Changbin looked away shyly, scratching behind his ear. Felix, with a deadpan expression, held up both his hands, palms facing each other and roughly seven inches apart. Hyunjin seemed to understand what that meant, as he threw his head back and cackled loudly. Minho also understood, giggling into his hand; and Chan did as well, looking away to hide a smirk. 

Jisung, however, was lost. “I . . . I don’t get it. What did Changbin do? What do those hands mean? Can someone explain? I feel left out again.”

“Come on, Jisungie, you’re not a virgin,” Minho said pityingly. “You know when you fuck a girl within an inch of her life, and the next day she’s walkin’ all funny? Yeah. It’s that.”

Jisung stared at Minho, dumbfounded. Then he looked down at the table. Then he looked at Felix, then at Changbin, then back at the table. Then he inhaled a sharp breath, his head snapping up, and he asked, a little too loudly, “Wait, so Lix is in pain because he got fuc—?”

Felix pointed a fork at him and hissed, “ _Shuuush_ , not so loud! Yeah, we got busy, okay? It was great, but now I’m feeling the repercussions. Let’s not dwell on it, ‘kay?”

Hyunjin was still cackling, and as he wiped a tear from his eye, he chuckled out, “Fuck’s sake, how many times did you do it?”

Felix opened his mouth to answer that, but no words came out. He closed his mouth, then looked at his hands, trying to count on his fingers, but he still couldn’t come up with an exact number. He looked to Changbin for help, but Changbin just shrugged, equally unaware. 

“I don’t know. I lost count,” Felix admitted. “Let’s just say _a lot_.”

Hyunjin’s eyebrows raised. “Damn. Must’ve been good, huh?”

Felix covered his mouth with his fist, smiling behind it. “Don’t make me think about it, we’re in public.”

“Uh-huh, okay, gotcha. I’ll ask later,” Hyunjin purred. Then, he looked at Changbin. “Binnie-Binnie-Changbinnie, anything to share?”

Changbin had his head balanced on his hand, and he pursed his lips. He said nothing, just raised his free hand and made a circle with his thumb and index finger, then tightened the circle until it was nearly invisible. Hyunjin seemed to understand, as he nodded slowly, smiling like a proud older brother. Minho snorted loudly, and Chan’s jaw dropped open a little. 

Jisung banged on the table. “Stop with the gay sign language! What does that _mean_? Can you include me in the conversation?”

Minho raised his hand and made the same tiny circle that Changbin had. He said, “Try putting your finger through this.”

Jisung tried, but the circle was too small, his finger wouldn’t fit. “I can’t, it’s too tight.”

Minho nodded sagely. “Get it now?”

Jisung’s eyes widened, nearly bulging out of his skull. He looked down at the table again, his head filled with images he didn’t necessarily want in there, swimming with all he’d unwillingly learned. He nervously fiddled with his own thumbs under the table, squeezing his eyes shut as if doing so would make his thoughts come pouring from his ears like ketchup from a bottle. Unfortunately, they didn’t.

“What I want to know is,” Seungmin piped up, “how come Hyunjin, who is straight, knows what all that stuff means, but you, who’s fucking Minho, don’t?”

“We haven’t fucked,” Minho quipped.

“Yet,” Jisung tacked on. “Also, I’m not totally convinced that Hyunjin is, in fact, straight. He’s been acting suspicious lately.”

Hyunjin chuckled breathily. “I am straight. At least until my Prince Charming comes along. Let’s just say I’m open to trying new things.”

Jisung rolled his eyes, but said no more on the subject. The waitress came around to take their drink orders—Chan and Minho both got the house Chardonnay, Jisung got the Pinot Grigio, Hyunjin got the Rosé, Changbin got the Pinot Noir, Felix got the Merlot, Seungmin got the Cabernet, and Jeongin stuck with just water. Their drinks were brought to them promptly, and Jisung did that fancy-man thing of twirling his wine around in the glass before taking his first sip. 

“So, Jisung,” Felix began as he set his wine down, “have you managed to try out any of those tips we gave you yesterday?”

“Uh—” Jisung started, looking at Minho, who looked back at him with sly curiosity. “N-No, I haven’t had the chance yet.”

Felix looked awkwardly at Minho. “Oh, shit, sorry. He didn’t know, did he?”

“No, I didn’t,” Minho murmured coyly, “what ‘tips’ are we talking about, exactly?”

Jisung cringed. He couldn’t be mad at Felix, as he’d already embarrassed him that evening, so this was payback. There was also no point trying to deny it, or changing the subject. So, he sighed, and admitted, “Yesterday, I . . . asked Felix, Chan, and Changbin for tips on, erm . . . sucking . . . dick . . .”

Hyunjin nearly choked on his wine. “You _did_?”

“How diligent of you,” Seungmin commented.

“Minho’s lucky,” Jeongin added.

Minho snickered softly into his palm. “I’m sorry, you . . . You asked those guys how to give a blowjob?”

“I told you I was gonna learn!” Jisung harumphed, pouting. “I wanna be able to do it right. What else was I supposed to do? Buy a dildo and try it out myself?”

“That’s . . . honestly not a bad idea,” Minho said. “That, or, you could find someone to practice on. Chan is single.”

Jisung wasn’t sure if Minho was joking or not. He looked at Chan, and shuddered. “Ugh, no way. That’d be super weird. No offense, Channie.”

“None taken,” Chan said nonchalantly. “Your mouth is too small, anyway. Wouldn’t fit.”

Jisung sneered at him. “You liar. My mouth is huge, look.”

To prove his point, he opened his mouth as wide as it would go, which, as he’d promised, was quite a ways. Chan watched the display, then shook his head. “Nope. Too small. I’ve got a Godzilla dick, you just can’t compete. Sorry.”

“You’re gross, and a big fat liar,” Jisung huffed.

“Lies as fat as this dick.” Chan smirked.

“ _Yuck_. Yuck!” Hyunjin hollered. “Can you guys stop? This is supposed to be a nice dinner. Cut out the TMI.”

The waitress came back around, and they each ordered a plate of pasta, which was served to them within twenty minutes. It was quiet for a little while as they all dug in, enjoying the first few bites, exchanging remarks on the taste and praise for the craftsmanship. They soon settled into calm and regular conversation, listening to Jeongin ranting about his shitty presentation partner that he’d been paired with for an upcoming class project and Seungmin telling them about the puppy he’d adopted that he’d be picking up from the shelter soon. Minho filled the others in on their shopping spree from that afternoon, talking about the camera and vape that he bought, and Hyunjin chimed in as well, excitedly telling them about his new shirt. 

Dinner wrapped up without any further hiccups, and Chan and Changbin both pitched in to pay the tab. They left, bellies full of pasta and heads full of wine, swirling with that lovely kind of buzz but not so drunk that it would be unsafe to drive. They climbed into their respective cars and made it back to the hotel, bidding one another good-night as they retreated to their rooms.

Minho stripped off his coat and his sweater, kicking his shoes in the direction of his bag. Jisung took off his blazer and ruffled his hair, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at Minho, who’d undone the top three buttons of his shirt and was standing in the doorway with one shoulder leaned against the wall. With only the smallest of outfit changes, he’d gone from preppy to cocktail-sexy, his hands in his pockets and his leisure posture making him look like a businessman coming home to his wife after he’d just closed a big deal.

Jisung hadn’t realized how long he’d been staring until Minho smirked, a chuckle escaping him in the form of an airy exhale through his nose. He took his shoulder off the wall and rounded the corner to stand between the wall and the bed, leaning his back against it instead, and he asked, “So, what were those ‘tips’ you got from the guys yesterday?”

Jisung rolled his eyes and smiled, shaking his head. “Nothing useful, really. Pretty much the same as anything those articles online will tell you, a lot of _what_ to do and not enough of _how_ to do it.”

“Oh, you looked up some articles, too?” Minho cooed, his tone bordering on belittlement, and Jisung didn’t know if he hated it or loved it. He didn’t know how he was even _supposed_ to feel about it.

Jisung hunched his shoulders up to his ears, looking coyly through his lashes, as though he didn’t know what was so amusing about Googling blowjob advice. He got up from the bed and went to stand in front of Minho, bringing the tip of his nose right up to Minho’s, and he murmured, “Yeah, I did quite a lot of digging. I told you, I’m gonna do it right. Wanna know what other kind of research I did?”

“Mm, tell me.” Minho egged him on, bringing his hands up to carefully touch them to Jisung’s hips, thumbing the hemline of his shirt.

Jisung squirmed a little in Minho’s soft grasp, and he giggled. “I watched _pornography_.”

“Ooh, scandalous,” Minho mused, the corner of his lips quirking and his eyes trained on Jisung’s mouth. “What kind of pornography? Anything freaky?”

“No, no. Just a real, up-close-and-personal video of some guy sucking some other guy. It was educational, y’see,” Jisung went on, as he ran his palms slowly up Minho’s chest until they rested on his shoulders, then he brought them up further to intertwine his fingers at the back of Minho’s neck. “I still didn’t really learn a whole lot, though, unfortunately. It’s one thing to watch someone do it, and another thing to attempt to repeat it yourself.”

Minho nodded, understanding, and shut his eyes. When he opened them, they were still pointed down, watching Jisung’s lips move, and his pupils had dilated substantially. When he spoke, his voice came out a little lower, a little more hoarse, and perhaps even a little strained. “You really want to learn, don’t you?”

Jisung looked earnestly into Minho’s face. “Yes. I do.”

For a moment, Minho’s gaze shifted off to the side, and he subtly bit his lip as though he was deeply considering his next words. There was no way to know what he was thinking—as usual, his face gave nothing away, like a screen over a window it hid everything he kept bottled inside. Finally, he looked straight into Jisung’s eyes, and his hands tightened on his hips. 

Minho said, quietly, “Then get on your knees.”

Jisung, taken aback, sputtered, and he blinked a few times. “What?”

“I said,” Minho reiterated, releasing Jisung’s hips and bringing up a hand to cup his chin, “get on your knees.”

Oh. Right. Jisung wanted to learn, so Minho was going to teach him, and he was going to teach him _now_. He’d never been bossed around in the bedroom before, so it took his mind a moment to clue in that he’d just been given an order. His body, however, was quicker to react, and he found himself kneeling on the floor within seconds, his face less than a ruler-length away from Minho’s crotch. When he looked up, in a state of bewilderment, he saw Minho gazing at him through catlike, eclipsed eyes, and he seemed so far above Jisung, both physically and metaphorically. He found it humiliating, even degrading, and somehow, for reasons he couldn’t decipher, that immediately had his pants feeling very tight.

Minho’s fingers found Jisung’s hair, and he toyed with it gently, smiling in amusement at Jisung’s apparent eagerness. Jisung’s lips fell partway open as he watched the front of Minho’s pants rise, going from flat against his leg to forming a prominent and demanding rod shape, and he was reminded _yet again_ that Minho was packing something formidable. He thought that should’ve scared him away. It didn’t. If anything, it made him hunger for it more, made him feel tingles in the pit of his stomach and lick his lips in anticipation.

His eyes fluttered, and he looked back up at Minho, sweetly asking, “Well? Aren’t you gonna teach me?”

Minho snorted. “You’re gonna have to take it out, first. Do you need instructions for that, or do you think you can figure it out?”

“I’ll manage,” Jisung muttered sarcastically. 

He refocused his attention on the cramped front of Minho’s jeans, running quivering hands up his thighs and caressing the bulge that strained against his zipper, making it come undone of its own accord. As soon as his fingers ghosted the concealing denim, Minho hissed, sucking in air sharply through his teeth; and it was then that Jisung realized that, while his current position felt degrading, it was actually he who held all the power, and he finally understood why Minho had said he enjoyed giving as much as receiving.

Jisung undid the buckle of Minho’s belt, pulling the leather strap out through the metal ring tantalizingly slow, Minho continuing to play with his hair as he did so. With that out of the way, he decided he’d attempt Minho’s trick, taking the button of his jeans between his teeth and tugging on it, trying to pull it out of its socket. When it didn’t budge, he pulled harder, making him look like a dog gnawing meat off a bone.

Minho chuckled at his effort. “Just use your hands, it’s fine.”

Jisung pouted. “No, I can get it. Give me a second.”

He tried again, tugging on the button, jerking his head to the side until finally it came undone, popping out of the loop, and he made a short growl of triumph. Then he moved onto the zipper, latching onto it with his teeth once again, and this time it was easy to maneuver, sliding down until the front of Minho’s pants was wide open at last. Minho seemed pleased, but it was unclear if that was because he was proud of Jisung, or simply happy they could finally get on with it.

Jisung took hold of the hem of Minho’s jeans and tugged them down slightly, just enough to give his large ‘downstairs neighbour’ some wiggle room. His tongue pinched between his teeth, he slipped his hand beyond the elastic of Minho’s boxers, made of a smooth satin fabric, and he clasped his fingers around Minho’s biggest mystery, the one part of him he’d not yet seen, and the part of him he’d most wondered about. 

He was somewhat surprised to find it didn’t feel as foreign as he’d assumed it would—if anything, he’d been more overwhelmed the first time he’d touched a woman than he was now. Perhaps he should’ve foreseen that outcome, considering the fact that this was not the first time he’d touched a dick, being the proud owner of one himself. 

Minho was calm, twisting his fingers in Jisung’s hair, watching him explore with the energy of a father watching his child play in a sandbox. Jisung was bothered by that. He remembered how he’d immediately become a wreck two nights ago, when their positions were switched, and while he didn’t exactly expect the same kind of overt reactions from Minho, he also didn’t expect him to be so lackluster. So, he opted to change that. Minho wanted to remain unfazed. Jisung wouldn’t allow it.

Jiggling his shoulders to get himself in the zone, he slowly drew his hand out of Minho’s underwear, carrying the precious cargo along with it. He thought he was ready. He wasn’t. Once Minho was fully revealed, inch stacked upon inch and standing straight up, Jisung’s whole body reacted to it, his eyes widening and his mouth salivating. He was transfixed, a man possessed, which he would’ve found strange had he been capable of forming any coherent thought—he’d never before had all his senses activated by the sight of any genitalia, and while he’d known he wanted this, he hadn’t known he’d want it this much.

He had definitely been frozen for too long, and Minho asked, “What is it? Something wrong?”

“Big,” was all Jisung managed to say.

Minho chuckled airily, shyly. “Nah. Not that much more than yours.”

“It _is_ ,” Jisung insisted. He didn’t have a ruler with him, but just by looking at it, Minho’s pride was at least an inch longer and quite a lot thicker than his own. He slowly rolled his fist up the entire length, squeezing it at the top before sliding back down again, making Minho let out a shaky exhale. It had an ever-so-slight curve to it, and it was circumcised, thickest at the base and tapering off only a small bit towards the tip. Jisung had never used this word to describe genitalia before, certainly not a dick, but he wouldn’t hesitate to say that Minho’s was beautiful, like it was sculpted by Adonis. He licked his lips.

“We’ll have to compare sometime,” Minho said, with a cheeky smile. Then he went on, “Do you . . . like it?”

Jisung simply looked at him with pleading, wanton eyes, his brows turned up and his bottom lip caught in his teeth, and that conveyed all the answer Minho needed. Jisung sat up straighter, balancing his butt on his heels, setting his shoulders in a posture that said he was ready.

“Okay. What shall I do first, Teach?” he asked with a grin.

“Are we role-playing, now?” Minho laughed. “You do whatever you want, first. I want to see what you’ll come up with. I’ll guide you.”

Jisung nodded and blew a breath out his nose for courage. He gripped the base of Minho’s dick like it was a microphone and brought his face close, inhaling a scent of sweat and musk, but before he could decide what he’d do first, something caught his eye. The skin at the bottom of Minho’s stomach, right above his shaft, was clearly visible, without a single strand of hair obstructing it. Jisung let go of his dick for a moment, splaying his hand against Minho’s stomach, feeling the smooth surface in awe.

Looking up, he wondered, “You shave?”

“Yeah, I shave,” said Minho, “ _everywhere_.”

That certainly carried implications, even if it was partially a lie, or at least an embellishment. Minho’s legs had hair on them. Jisung never particularly cared about body hair on any of his partners—whether they wanted to shave or not, that was their choice—but still, Minho being smooth _all over_ was certainly an appealing thought. If nothing else, it meant he took special care when it came to his personal grooming, and Jisung could appreciate that.

With that discovery out of the way, it was back to business. Jisung wrapped his hand around the base of Minho’s shaft once again, and he tested the waters, wetting his lips before placing a chaste kiss to the very tip. The hand that played with Jisung’s hair faltered, and its grip tightened just slightly as Minho let out another shuddering breath. Good, Jisung’s actions were having an effect on him. That knowledge gave him confidence, so he repeated the action, trailing a line of kisses down the side all the way to the edge of his own hand, then he traced that line with the tip of his tongue, ghosting it along his skin so faintly it almost wasn’t there at all. He heard Minho gulp thickly, and he could feel Minho’s eyes on him, watching him intently, hyper-focused on his every move.

“Good?” Jisung asked.

“Yeah. Yeah, really good,” Minho assured him. “You’re doing well.”

Maybe he had a thing for praise, because those words caused a rippling tingle across his stomach that reverberated right to the end of his dick. He continued, pumping Minho’s shaft with his fist and lifting it so it pointed to the ceiling, then licking a long stripe up the underside, pausing to focus at the triangular spot that he knew to be extra-sensitive before pulling away. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that his dick really had no taste—it was as though he was licking his arm, or any other part of his body, just the bland flavour of skin. Perhaps he should’ve expected that, as it was relatively the same story when it came to women. The only part that would have any taste was— 

Just as he thought about it, a bead of pre-cum leaked out of the head, starting to drip down his length. Jisung, curious, wouldn’t let it go to waste, so he quickly lapped it up, and as soon as he did, he recoiled. Not out of disgust, but out of shock at the unexpected flavour.

Minho laughed at him. “What?”

“Bizarre,” Jisung simply said. The substance was thicker than water, but not quite as viscous as actual cum, and it tasted _incredibly_ salty, like he’d just taken a sip from the Dead Sea. It was very different from the taste of a woman, which was a lot more acidic, like lemon juice or vinegar. He thought perhaps he should stop comparing this experience to those of his past. He wasn’t with a woman, he was with a man, with Minho, and while the sensations were different, they weren’t unpleasant. He would enjoy this for what it was—something new, something exciting, the feeling of being a virgin all over again.

“Yeah. It’s salty, I know,” Minho apologized, “sorry, it’s kinda gross.”

“No,” Jisung disagreed, “I don’t mind it.”

Minho cracked a shy smile at that. Jisung laved his tongue over the tip of his dick again, getting used to the taste, finding it less alarming the second time. He circled his tongue around the head, then licked another stripe up the side, exploring it and coating it in spit. Minho started panting, his grip on Jisung’s hair getting tighter and his legs shaking, his other hand pressed flat against the wall, holding onto it for dear life. Jisung flattened his tongue and dragged it up the underside of his cock, and this time, when he got to the top, he wrapped his lips around it, his mouth stretching more than he’d thought it would need to, and he applied suction while flicking his tongue along the ridge of the head. 

“ _Fuck_ , Jisung,” Minho groaned, his head tilting back to rest against the wall. “You sure you haven’t done this before?”

Jisung removed his mouth with a _pop!_ and smirked. “Positive.”

Perhaps his research had actually paid off more than he’d thought. After all, two nights ago, he’d gotten a pretty good lesson from the very best. Jisung pumped his hand again and stuck his tongue out, placing the tip on it and looking up at Minho’s face as he put it past his lips again, sucking hard, and pulling it as far into his mouth as he could, which regrettably wasn’t very far. Still, Minho moaned, his jaw falling open and his gaze locked on Jisung’s, and he carded his hand through Jisung’s hair, petting him, nodding his head as if to tell Jisung that he was doing well. 

The sight was too much for him. His pants felt so tight he thought they’d burst, he thought his dick would pop under the pressure, so he quickly undid them before returning to his work, starting to move his head, his lips tucked carefully over his teeth. He kept his eyes pointed up, stroking Minho’s cock with his mouth and using his hand anywhere he couldn’t reach, sucking and licking, avoiding swallowing his saliva, causing him to drool. 

Minho, ever the polite one, brought his free hand up to swipe off the trickle of spit with his thumb, and then he put that thumb in his own mouth, cleaning it off. In any other situation, Jisung would’ve found that gross, but here, he thought it was incredibly sexy, and he felt those nauseating tingles in the pit of his stomach again. He couldn’t resist it anymore—he stuck his free hand into his boxers, wrapping it around his own cock and jacking himself off, coaxing a moan from him that sent vibrations along Minho’s dick, and he moaned, too.

Jisung timed the bobbing of his head to the strokes of his hand, giving them both simultaneous pleasure, shutting his eyes and losing himself in the stimulation. He got so lost in it that he forgot about Felix’s warning, wanting to taste every inch of Minho’s cock, pushing his head down on it farther than he should’ve, beyond his limits, and he only realized what he’d done when he gagged and had to pull away with a cough.

“Shit, you okay?” Minho asked breathlessly, bending down to Jisung’s level and holding his head in both hands. “Don’t overdo it, you’re doing great.”

Hoarsely, Jisung said, “I wasn’t thinking, I went overboard. That was embarrassing.”

“No worries.” Minho chuckled. “Are you all right, though? We can stop if—”

Jisung shook his head fervently. Even without a mirror, he could tell his eyes were pooled with desperate lust, and when he looked at Minho, that lust only grew stronger, hotter, until it stung like he was about to cry. “No! I’m fine, really. Now get back up there.”

Minho smiled and stood back up, leaning his head back against the wall and tangling his fingers in Jisung’s hair again. Jisung grabbed hold of his dick and resumed licking up the sides and along the bottom, then tonguing the slit and lapping up more of his pre-cum, which had started leaking out substantially faster than before. Meanwhile, he continued stroking himself, every squeeze of his fist bringing him closer to the edge, making him shake and whine; and he let the sounds come out without trying to hold them in, as he knew that Minho could feel every noise, the vibrations serving to aid in his pleasure. 

Minho looked back down at Jisung, and as soon as he did, Jisung fit his cock back into his mouth, circling his tongue around the circumference, bobbing his head all the while gazing up at Minho through his lashes. Minho reached over to grasp the corner of the wall, and he groaned loudly from deep in his chest, hot breaths coming fast and hard through his nostrils, like a mantra for his sanity. 

He was looking at Jisung like he was something to be devoured, his eyes squinted and pitch-black and his eyebrows knotted, his lips parted and his chest heaving. His cheeks were even rosy, and looking at him, at his face that had his pleasure displayed all over it, Jisung’s stomach clenched, and he started stroking himself faster, bobbing his head faster, chasing sweet release for both himself and Minho.

“Fuck, Jisung, _fuck_ ,” Minho groaned, pulling on Jisung’s hair. It didn’t even hurt—if anything, it felt _good_ —and Jisung couldn’t help another moan slipping out of him. “Fuck, your mouth feels so good, _shit_ , don’t stop . . .”

He had no plans to stop. He wasn’t even sure he could, even if he wanted to, even if Minho begged him to. He started to twist his head side-to-side with every stroke, obscene slurping sounds filling the hotel room, and he jacked himself harder, his whole body starting to shake. His eyes wanted to close, but he wouldn’t let them. He kept staring up at Minho, listless, as though begging him for something, but even he wasn’t sure what. Minho wouldn’t, or couldn’t, look away either, drinking in the sight of Jisung swallowing his cock, taking in every inch he could manage like it was the only thing he needed to survive. 

Minho shuddered, a quivering moan escaping his lips, and he choked out, quietly, “Fuck . . . Are you touching yourself?”

Jisung pulled away gingerly, wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “I can’t help it. I’m so fucking horny, Christ . . .”

Minho’s eyes rolled back into his head for a moment, like he couldn’t quite believe his ears. Then, he pointed his gaze back at Jisung, and gruffly ordered, “Take your hand off. Can you do that for me?”

Jisung kept his hand firmly clasped around his dick, and shook his head, looking at Minho pleadingly. “I can’t. I need to come so bad. Please, Minho, I— _Fuck_ . . .”

“You will, but not yet,” Minho said. “Take your hand off. Now.”

His voice was hard, demanding, and serious—he wasn’t fucking around. For some reason, Minho bossing him around made arousal spiral throughout his whole body, and he wanted him to boss him around _more_ , give him more orders, make him do all kinds of things. He also wanted to disobey those orders, just to see how Minho would react. In that moment, though, he didn’t have the gall to defy him, feeling trapped and oh, so beautifully small beneath Minho’s hard stare; so, with a quiet whine, he took his hand out of his pants, placing it on Minho’s thigh instead.

Minho closed his eyes for a second, as though reeling from Jisung’s obedience, as though he couldn’t believe it. He looked back down, into Jisung’s begging eyes, and in a tight voice, he just said, “Good.”

Jisung whined again at the praise. He was _good_. All he wanted was to please Minho, and he was _good_. He scratched at Minho’s thigh, itching to touch himself more, but he forced himself to resist the urge, wanting so bad to be good. Minho gulped, reading Jisung like a book, and under his breath, he muttered, “God, I want to fuck you . . .”

Jisung panted, riled, crazed, so far gone he wasn’t sure he’d come back, and he took Minho’s cock into his mouth again and sucked, hard, licking everywhere his tongue would reach and dragging his lips up and down his shaft. Minho keened, the back of his head hitting the wall, and he gripped Jisung’s hair, guiding his head to move faster. He was close, very, very close, every tiny amount of suction making his knees quake and wrenching a gutteral noise from his throat. Jisung got brave, and on one of the upward movements of his head, he carefully let his bottom teeth graze Minho’s length, and Minho let out the sexiest sound Jisung had ever heard, doubling over slightly and cursing.

“Fuck, oh _God_ , do that again,” he demanded, so Jisung did, this time with his top teeth, scraping them ever-so-gently up Minho’s dick, and Minho made that sound again, a desperate whine mixed with a harsh moan, a string of _fuck_ ’s tumbling from his lips. 

Jisung continued bobbing his head, applying his teeth every so often, keeping Minho on his toes. At this point, the pauses in between Minho’s noises had entirely gone away, every exhale a moan and every inhale a hiss, and the hand he had tangled in Jisung’s hair was trembling. Their gazes were locked, both of them begging for nothing and everything at once, and Minho’s breathing started to heave, almost like sobs, as he tried to tug Jisung off him, but Jisung refused to budge.

“Fuck, Jisung, fuck, oh God, _fuck_!” he swore, still grappling desperately with Jisung’s hair. “God, fuck, I’m gonna come, Jisung I— I can’t hold it, I’m gonna come, let go—”

Jisung shook his head, still refusing. He wanted it. He wanted to taste him, let him fill his mouth, drink him in until not a drop was left. He let go of Minho’s dick and put that hand on his other thigh, focusing everything on his mouth, his tongue, his lips, his teeth, and he shut his eyes, squeezing a single tear out through them, letting it drip down his cheek, the physical manifestation of his longing.

“Jisung, I—” Minho blubbered, choking on his words. “I-I can’t, I can’t, I fucking can’t, Jisung I’m gonna come, I’m— I’m coming, Jisung, fuck, I’m coming, _fuck_ —”

He went rigid, his head banging against the wall as he let out a wail, and Jisung himself moaned when he felt Minho’s cock writhe in his mouth as he released, his cum pouring into his throat, salty and bitter and, weirdly, a little sweet. It was a _lot_ , too. It just kept coming, until Jisung could take no more and a trickle of it spilled past his lips, trailing down to his chin. Jisung pulled away from Minho and covered his mouth with his hand, the fluid swirling in his cheeks and stinging his tongue, and his eyes watered. He was shocked, truly, earnestly shocked, at how much he loved it.

Minho, exhausted, collapsed to Jisung’s level, and he held his palm out flat beneath Jisung’s chin. “It’s okay, you can spit it out. Here.”

Jisung shook his head fervently, and when Minho opened his mouth to insist, he took his hand away from his face and swallowed hard, blinking a few times. Then, he opened his mouth wide, tongue sticking out, showing Minho that he had, in fact, drank all of it.

Minho chuckled disbelievingly and said, “You, Han Jisung, are the eighth Wonder of the World. You missed a spot, though.”

He carefully wiped Jisung’s chin with his thumb, cleaning up the mess. Jisung quickly grabbed his wrist and sucked every last drop off his thumb, drawing the appendage out through his lips slowly, still gazing into Minho’s eyes, his face tomato-red and completely fucked. As soon as he let go of his wrist, Minho picked him up at the waist and threw him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, standing up and carrying him to the bed, where he dropped him down onto his back. He quickly stripped Jisung’s jeans all the way off, followed by his boxers, then hooked his knees over his arms and bent over his crotch, licking a long stripe up his reddened and aching cock. 

Jisung cried out, loud and open-mouthed, gripping the sheets tightly in his fists and panting like a dog on a hot day. Minho took Jisung into his mouth and bobbed his head once, twice, three times, and Jisung was coming, instantly, full-body shakes and loud moans, nearly screaming as his orgasm hit him like a truck going full-speed. Minho drew off and swallowed, and Jisung was still shaking, breaths still heaving, so he crawled forward to embrace him in a tight hug, holding him as he came down off the intense high.

“Fucking _shit_ ,” Jisung panted, “holy, fucking _shit_. Holy shit. Oh, my God. Minho. Minho, oh my _God_. Oh my _fucking_ God.”

“Shh. Breathe, baby,” Minho whispered, slowly lifting him into a seated position and rubbing his back. He crawled into Jisung’s lap and kissed him, sweetly, hotly, and Jisung kissed back. They tasted each other, mouths moving as one, lips slotting together like puzzle pieces. 

Minho pulled away and smiled, ruffling Jisung’s hair. “Good?”

“Holy shit,” was all Jisung could say.

“Yeah. That was incredible,” Minho agreed, standing up to take his jeans off and pull his underwear back up. Then, he sat next to Jisung and tugged him back into his arms. “You were incredible.”

Jisung smiled. He couldn’t speak. It was the combination of all the over-stimulation he’d just experienced and the disbelief that he’d really just done that rendering him speechless. He thought he’d be terrible at it the first time, but if Minho was telling the truth, he’d actually done well.

 _Good_.


	14. For Your Entertainment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> Y'all thought the last chapter was long? Ha, haha, ha. That's funny. Anyways, here's 49 pages and over 14,000 words of birthday shenanigans for your viewing pleasure!
> 
> So, real talk, this week has been a rough blow for me. I've been dealing with some online harassment, so I've changed my Twitter and AO3 information to protect my identity. I don't know how many of you remember my real name, but if you do, I ask that you call me Mercury instead to help me maintain my anonymity on here. Thank you! :)
> 
> I've had so much fun reading your comments on the last couple chapters! I always go back to re-read them when I need some inspiration, so thank you for your kind and supportive feedback! This story has almost reached 8,000 hits and 400 kudos, so again, I thank you all from the bottom of my heart for giving my little story a chance :')
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter, and if you have any predictions on where the story will go from here, I'd love to hear them!
> 
> As always, be sure to follow me on Twitter (I've changed my @, it's @/mediochris now!) I post real-time updates on my creative process, exclusive content, sneak-peeks, spoilers, and announcements for new updates! Also, check out the "Molasses in the Sky" playlists on Spotify and YouTube, and thanks to my beta reader Defectiveexecisedragon (@execisedragon on Twitter), we're now on Apple Music, too! Links to all three playlists can be found in my pinned thread on Twitter :)
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "For Your Entertainment" by Adam Lambert!
> 
> Happy reading~

_No escaping when I start,_   
_Once I’m in I own your heart._

The night before, Jisung had changed into fresh underwear and a large white t-shirt, and he’d fallen asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow, all the energy sapped from him. He was awoken what felt like two minutes later by Minho tickling his side, nibbling on his earlobe, and whispering annoying gibberish. Jisung shifted away from him and groaned into his pillow, gently kicking Minho’s shin with his heels. 

“Wakey-wakey,” Minho cooed, continuing to tickle him.

“Go awaaay,” Jisung whined. “What time is it?”

Minho giggled, wrapping his arm around his midsection. “About six o’clock.”

“Gross. I’m going back to sleep,” Jisung grumbled.

Minho leaned over him and started placing butterfly kisses along his neck, all the while poking his stomach softly. Jisung couldn’t decide if he enjoyed the attention, or if he was supremely irritated by it. Minho moved on to kiss his cheek, nuzzling it, squishing it with his nose.

“I was gonna have a shower,” he said quietly.

“Mm. Have fun,” Jisung mumbled.

Minho breathed out a laugh. “Care to join me?”

Jisung turned over, eyes round and excited, suddenly wide awake. “Okay.”

Minho grinned and sat up, throwing the covers off him and beginning to crawl out of bed. Before he could, Jisung grabbed his arm and pulled him back for a sweet and lasting kiss, and when they parted, he whispered, “Happy birthday, baby.”

“Oh, right. Almost forgot,” Minho muttered. He got out of bed, fixing his satin pajamas, and he reached out both hands to help Jisung up. The skies outside their window were dark, the sun not yet risen, and distantly Jisung could hear the sound of several crows cawing as they passed by, flying to warmer weather. Winter was right around the corner, indeed.

They walked into the hotel room’s conjoined bathroom, Jisung closing the door behind him. Minho undid the buttons of his pajama top and stripped it off, followed by his pants, and then his briefs, too. He was completely shameless, and confident as he should be—his body was gorgeous, all lean muscle and supple flesh, every line and curve perfectly sculpted, from the top of his head to the soles of his feet. Jisung was shameless, too, staring at him like he was a buffet, his eyes drinking in the view and his mouth slightly ajar.

Minho looked back at him and raised his eyebrows as if to say, ‘What?’ Jisung gulped thickly, and murmured, “Is it your birthday, or mine?”

“Ha. Your turn, soldier,” Minho quipped, approaching Jisung and snapping the elastic of his underwear. 

Jisung complied, stripping off his shirt over his head and then pulling his boxers down and kicking them away. It was Minho’s turn to stare, scanning his eyes up and down Jisung’s body, sucking in a breath. He brought up a hand to run his middle finger along Jisung’s abs, then took hold of his waist and brought him in close, kissing him, softly at first and then harder, hungrier, his nails digging into Jisung’s skin. Then, he pulled away with a small grin and climbed into the shower that was definitely only meant for one person, tightly-spaced and fashioned with a translucent glass panel. 

He turned the water on and tested it with his hand, adjusting it to the perfect temperature, then he beckoned for Jisung to join him. Jisung did, climbing in beside him and, unable to resist, giving his butt a squeeze. Minho glared gently at him, and Jisung smiled teasingly back. Minho faced Jisung and took a step backward so he was beneath the stream of water, letting it wet his hair as he pushed it back off his forehead. Jisung stared, watched the droplets trail down his body, painting his skin, and he clenched his jaw, gulping again.

Minho’s gaze flickered down, pointing somewhere around his navel. He said, levelly, “Calm yourself.”

Jisung also looked down at his dick that was pointing straight out in front of him. He looked back up and replied, “I’m calm.”

“Clearly.” Minho chuckled. He came forward and switched places with Jisung, pushing him under the water, mussing his hair as it became drenched, then ran his hands down his body, along the slope of his slim waist and the curve of his hips. Jisung felt something tickle his thigh, and looked down to find Minho was in similar straits as he.

Jisung laughed, gently tapping the tip of Minho’s pride. “Hypocrite.”

“Sorry. Can’t help it,” Minho murmured unapologetically, dragging his hands back up Jisung’s body. He went on, “But hey, now we can compare.”

Jisung snorted loudly. “You were serious about that?”

Minho looked playfully at him. “You thought I was joking?”

“You just want to make me feel bad,” Jisung whined.

“Nonsense,” Minho denied. He brought his body closer, so the tip of his dick was pressed flush against the crook of Jisung’s leg. Jisung’s manhood, however, fell just short, not quite able to touch Minho’s skin, and looking at that, Jisung pouted.

Minho, however, apparently didn’t see an issue. “See? I’m not _that_ much bigger than you.”

“Huh! Are you blind? You’ve got _at least_ an inch on me,” Jisung insisted. He then used his fingers to measure the width of Minho’s dick, comparing it to his own. “And look, see? You beat me by a couple centimeters, there, too.”

Minho hummed. “Okay, mine _is_ bigger, that’s clear, but only by a little. I’m not this goliath you make me out to be.”

“Who said you’re a _goliath_? I just said it’s ‘big,’ which it is,” Jisung corrected, still looking at his own length, which seemed puny next to Minho’s.

“Mm, alright, but you’re big too,” Minho said in a tone like he was consoling a child, wrapping his arms around him. “I’m a seven, so you’re, what, a six? That’s still above average.”

Jisung glared playfully at him. “I don’t know if I should thank you, or smack you.”

“I’m being serious! Why are you upset?” Minho comforted him and laughed at him at the same time.

“I’m not upset,” Jisung promised, “if anyone’s gonna have a bigger dick than me, it’d _better_ be the man I’m sleeping with.”

Minho grinned at that. Then, his face changed as he looked up in thought. “Well, unfortunately, according to Felix, Changbin’s a seven, too.”

Jisung scowled. “Right. Shit.”

“And, Chan, can’t forget about Chan,” Minho went on, “he’s probably a seven. Or maybe even an eight.”

“He’s not an _eight_ ,” Jisung denied.

“How do you know?” Minho pressed. “Have you seen him hard?”

Jisung scoffed. “No! Have _you_?”

“No.” Minho shook his head. “I’m just assuming. I mean, look at the guy, he just screams ‘big dick energy.’ Then again, so do you.”

Jisung sighed. “ _Now_ I’m upset.”

“Nooo,” Minho fretted, hugging him again. “Don’t feel bad. Who cares about size, anyway? You have a lovely dick, one I’d be _honoured_ to have inside me.”

“Okay, okay, now you’re really layin’ it on thick.” Jisung rolled his eyes. “I’m just joking, anyway, I don’t really care. I’m happy with what I’ve got, he’s never failed me before.”

“Good to know,” Minho mused. Then, he looked away in thought again, and in a voice that might be sarcastic or might very well be serious, he asked, “What about Hyunjin? You ever seen him hard?”

Jisung recoiled, scrunching up his face. “Gross, no! Why are you inquiring about my friends’ dicks, anyway?”

Minho shrugged nonchalantly. “Just curious.”

Jisung flicked water in his eyes. “Uh-huh. Well, stop it, I don’t want to think about anyone’s dick except yours.”

Minho laughed at that, reaching around Jisung to take one of the small shampoo bottles. He squirted some into his palm and lathered it between his hands, then grabbed Jisung’s head, massaging it into his scalp, earning groans of protest as he jerked his head left and right, slathering every strand of hair. Then he pushed Jisung under the water, rinsing the product off, and finished by leaving a small kiss on the tip of his nose.

“Your turn,” Jisung said, lathering shampoo between his own hands and slapping it onto Minho’s head, scrubbing it into his curls. He started giggling as he put one palm to the crown of his scalp, moving his hand like a jellyfish, the same motion one would use to squeeze a stress ball. “Hey, what’s this?”

Minho looked up as though he could see Jisung’s hand and asked, “I don’t know, what is it?”

“It’s a brain sucker, and he’s hungry!” Jisung laughed.

Minho rolled his eyes and smacked his hand away, unable to contain a small chuckle. He switched places with Jisung so that he could rinse his own hair out, then squeezed a dollop of conditioner into his hands, lathering it before spreading it across Jisung’s head. He then unwrapped one of the provided mini soap bars, got it wet, and started dragging it in circles up and down Jisung’s body, covering him in suds and working them into his skin with his free hand. 

Jisung let his head loll back and enjoyed the attention, enjoyed the feeling of Minho’s touch on every square-centimeter of his skin, not missing a spot—he even knelt down to get each of his legs, and when he did, Jisung forced himself to stay looking at the ceiling, not trusting what he might do if he laid eyes on Minho kneeling in front of him. Minho stood up and deposited the soap in the ceramic holder mounted to the wall, then lathered what was left of it between his hands before putting both on Jisung’s dick, stroking the length of it and slathering it in soap.

A shocked moan made it past Jisung’s lips, and he grabbed the wall to steady himself. Minho chuckled and mumbled, “Don’t come on me. We’re supposed to be getting clean, here.”

“You haven’t washed your body yet, anyway,” Jisung said cheekily.

“Mm-hmm,” Minho mused, pushing Jisung beneath the water again to rinse him off. While he massaged conditioner into his own hair, Jisung wasted no time grabbing the bar of soap and applying it to Minho’s body, soaping up every inch of him, giving special attention to his chest as payback. 

When he was done, they switched places again so Minho could rinse off. As he did so, he said, “You go ahead and dry off. I’ll get out in a minute.”

“I can wait for you,” Jisung replied, not minding at all the chance to stare at Minho some more. 

Minho shook his head. “No, I’ve got some, er, ‘special cleaning’ to do. You go first.”

“That’s suspicious,” Jisung murmured, his mouth quirking into a smirk. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t think you want the gritty details,” Minho told him.

“I think I do,” Jisung insisted.

Minho sighed, defeated. “Look, I’m too shy to do it in front of you, so go.”

“At least tell me what it is,” Jisung pleaded.

“Let’s just say it’s, well,” Minho looked away, the tips of his ears flushed red, “‘interior polishing.’”

Jisung’s eyebrows went up his forehead. Oh, he thought. _Oh_. He remembered what he’d said the night before— _“Darn, I guess we’ll have to wait until we get to the cabin, then.”_ —and what Minho had said just now, about how he’d be ‘honoured’ to have Jisung’s dick inside him. He’d taken it all for jokes at the time, but it set in that perhaps Minho wasn’t joking at all, and he was really planning to go all the way, and soon. It made sense, of course, as they’d been skirting the edge of it for a while, but still the thought of it had Jisung’s heart beating fast and set all his nerves alight. 

“R-Right, okay,” Jisung choked out, his mind and body overwhelmed. For a second, Minho’s eyebrows knitted, and he worried his bottom lip. Perhaps he had sudden reservations, but about what, Jisung couldn’t know. 

Jisung climbed out of the shower to give Minho his privacy, quick-drying himself before wrapping the towel around his waist. As he left, he took with him his discarded clothes, as well as two fistfuls of mini shampoos and conditioners, stuffing all of it into his bag as soon as he got out into the room. He changed into his new pair of jeans, black acid-wash with a rip in one knee, then pulled on a white t-shirt and an oversized beige flannel on top, buttoning it up all the way. He stuck a black bucket hat on his head and laid himself out on the bed, taking out his phone and scrolling through social media.

Several minutes passed before Minho returned from the bathroom, towel hanging low on his hips and droplets still clinging to his skin, his hair damp and sticking up all over the place. He shook his bangs out of his eyes and bent down to collect his outfit from his bag, rooting through all the bunched-up fabrics to select the desired clothing pieces. 

Jisung glanced up from his phone. “All clean?”

“Yup,” Minho confirmed, a glint in his eye, “inside and out.”

Jisung offered him a breathless chuckle before turning his attention back to Twitter. He was lurking on 3RACHA’s official account, which had gained quite a few new followers since their performance at Back Door, now equating to over two-thousand. While going through their notifications, he noticed they’d gotten a lot of tags from an apparent fan account, which, to his dismay, had more followers than they did. Still, he was pleasantly surprised to find they had fans die-hard enough to make whole accounts dedicated to them. It felt surreal.

At the sound of a bag zipping up, Jisung looked away from his phone screen to see Minho had gotten dressed. He wore plain black jeans and a black t-shirt with a blue graphic on it, the new one he’d bought yesterday, and he’d thrown a fluffy sky-blue jacket over top. He looked soft and huggable in it, so Jisung got up off the bed and wrapped his arms around Minho from behind, burying his face in his fuzzy shoulder.

“Mm? What’s this?” Minho asked lightly, placing his palm over Jisung’s hands and stroking them with his thumb.

“So soft,” Jisung said, rubbing his cheek on Minho’s jacket.

Minho chuckled. “You like it?”

Jisung hummed in confirmation, sighing deeply into the faux fur. Minho laughed again and went on, “Okay, okay, enough. Get your stuff together, it’s time to go.”

Jisung reluctantly complied, collecting what remained of his things from various places around the hotel room, including his boxers and jeans that had been discarded the night before. He put his retro Vans back on while Minho put on black chunky sneakers, and they took their bags and headed to the front desk to check out. They found Hyunjin and Jeongin waiting by Hyunjin’s car in the parking lot, both of them looking dreadfully tired, while the rest of the group had already gathered in Chan’s truck, ready to go.

Hyunjin looked up from his phone and scowled at them. “Oh, finally, they’re here. How nice of you to join us.”

“Are we the last ones out?” Jisung asked, and when Hyunjin glared as if to say, ‘Duh,’ he added, “Sorry. You could’ve texted me.”

“I _did_ text you, idiot,” Hyunjin quipped, and Jisung looked at his phone to see he’d accidentally left it on Do Not Disturb, which explained why he’d never seen the text Hyunjin sent almost half an hour ago. 

“Oh, shit. My bad,” Jisung apologized sheepishly.

Hyunjin let out a huff. “Yeah, your bad. I’d ask what you got up to last night, but I know _exactly_ what you got up to last night.”

Jisung looked at him, confused, so Hyunjin explained, “Thin walls. I could hear every damn thing.”

Minho snorted loudly, while Jisung flushed from his nose to the tips of his ears, and he mumbled, “Were we really _that_ loud?”

“ _You_ were,” Minho said.

Jisung’s mouth gaped, and he was left standing on the curb in front of Hyunjin’s car while the rest of them climbed in. He joined them shortly after, getting in the back beside Minho, and they were on their way, back on the I-5 out of Sacramento, following behind Chan’s truck along the scenic route through California. Jisung watched the rolling brown hills pass them by on either side, the skies above beginning to fill with grey clouds, promising rain to come before the day was through.

They’d barely been driving for twenty minutes when Minho leaned over to stick his head into the front half of the car, both hands on Hyunjin’s seat, and he asked, with absolutely no shame, “Hey, Jinnie, how big’s your dick?”

Jeongin choked on the coffee he got from the hotel, and Jisung looked at Minho like he’d gone mad. Hyunjin, however, was unfazed by the strange question, and he levelly answered, “Six-point-five-nine inches, or about sixteen-point-seven-four centimeters. Why?”

“Just wondering, thanks,” Minho said, and sat back down in his seat.

“That’s . . . an oddly specific number,” commented Jeongin.

Hyunjin smirked. “It’s gotta be exact. I can’t spare even a millimeter.”

Jisung had a look on his face like he’d just eaten something sour. “I didn’t want to know that. Why did _you_ want to know that? Did you _have_ to subject us all to that?”

“It’s important research. I want to see where I fall on the size ranking, between the eight of us,” Minho explained, as though that was completely normal. “Besides, why are you upset? He’s not bigger than you.”

Jisung pouted. “Yeah, he is. By point-four-three inches.”

“Oh, _Hell_ yeah,” Hyunjin celebrated, sticking his tongue out. Jisung responded by flicking him in the ear.

“Huh.” Minho hummed, doing the calculations in his head. “So that makes you . . . six-point-sixteen? Hey, I’m seven-point-sixteen, we’re exactly an inch apart. Isn’t that cool?”

Jisung scrunched his face up more. “Not really, no. Why are we still talking about this?”

“I told you, I want to know where I fall on the ranking,” Minho reiterated. “My biggest competitor is Changbin, so I gotta know his exact measurement.”

“ _Do_ you?” Jisung muttered.

Minho nodded insistently. “I do. If Changbin has a bigger dick than me, I won’t be able to live with myself. I’ll have to cut some of his off.”

Jeongin piped up quietly before Jisung could react to that. “Well, if it helps, you’ve all got me beat. That’s as much as I’ll say on the subject.”

Jisung exhaled heavily, giving up. “I can’t listen to this any longer. I’m going to sleep, you’re all insane.”

He tucked his head into his arm, leaning against the window and shutting his eyes, his tiredness catching up with him as he quickly felt himself drifting into sleep, the others’ explicit conversation drowning out as his consciousness left him. If he dreamt at all, it was short-lived and unmemorable, letting him sleep restfully and undisturbed.

***

Jisung woke up with a start when he felt something cold and wet caress the shell of his ear. He jerked in place, opening his eyes to find Minho inches from his face with his tongue sticking out, grinning teasingly at him.

“Did you lick my ear?” Jisung asked groggily.

“Did you like it?” Minho wondered jokingly.

“No. Gross,” Jisung complained. He sat up straight and looked around, taking in the surrounding view of chic beachhouses with wide balcony space, the quiet streets of a coastal town, and the blue sea that stretched on as far as the eye could see. He checked his phone to discover that it was just shy of two o’clock in the afternoon, and that he’d once again slept through the entire drive.

“Are we in McKinleyville?” he inquired.

Minho shook his head. “No, Trinidad. We passed McKinleyville already. My dad’s cabin is up the road a bit from here, but we’re stopping to grab lunch first. You want fish ‘n chips?”

He liked the sound of that, so he nodded. They crawled out of the car to join the others waiting on the curb outside a restaurant called The Lighthouse Grill, a quaint eatery that, at first glance, looked more like a travel center, but inside it housed a large kitchen with several menu offerings and minimal seating. They went in as a group and ordered fish ‘n chips for take-out, and once they got their food, they returned to the cars and drove to a beachside parking lot overlooking the ocean, where they got out once again and gathered in the back of Chan’s truck to eat.

The sea breeze was gentle, yet cold, so Jisung stuck close to Minho’s fluffy jacket for warmth. The sound of the waves echoed on the wind and the view was far, and although the clouds above kept it all looking somber, it was beautiful. 

Chan passed around the various dipping sauces and packets of balsamic vinegar, and Jisung poured it over his breaded halibut, letting it soak in while he dipped a fry in tartar sauce and popped it in his mouth. It was quiet for a nice, short while, everyone munching on their food. 

That peace was interrupted quickly, though, when Minho made a sound like he’d just remembered something, and he asked with just as little shame as before, “Changbin, how big’s your dick?”

Changbin, Chan, Felix, and Seungmin were stunned silent at his invasive question, while Hyunjin and Jeongin went on eating, unfazed. Jisung, however, sighed noisily and remarked, “You’re _still_ on this?”

“What do you mean, ‘still’? I haven’t got all my answers, yet,” Minho said, again like he saw nothing weird about the situation.

Changbin chewed slowly on a single fry, one eyebrow cocked. “Why . . . do you want to know, exactly?”

“He’s on a mission,” Hyunjin explained for him, “he’s hoping he’s got the biggest dick out of all of us. He’s got me, Jisung, and Jeongin beat, so it’s up to you guys to humble him.”

Chan snorted. “No problem. You might as well stop your conquest here, ‘cause I’m undoubtedly the winner.”

“Sure you are, Channie,” Minho humoured him. “I’m seven-point-sixteen. You?”

Chan grinned. “Ha! Told ya. I’m seven-point-eight, exactly.”

“Lies,” Jisung shot him down.

“I’ll prove it,” Chan insisted. “You got a ruler?”

Jisung looked down at his food like it’d gone rotten. “Ugh, no, please don’t. I don’t know why I’m involving myself in this, I don’t want to know.”

“Admit it, you’re a _little_ curious,” Minho teased, nudging him.

“Not _that_ curious,” Jisung muttered.

Felix puffed out his cheeks, looking at Chan like he was a mythical creature. “Well, if he’s telling the truth, he’s got a couple inches on me. I guess I’m out of the race.”

“Me too,” Seungmin offered.

There was only one left. All eyes turned to Changbin, and he looked back like a performer who’d forgotten his lines onstage. Clearing his throat, he meekly said, “Seven and a half. Sorry, Minho.”

“Fuck. So I’m in third?” Minho pouted, crossing his arms.

“I’m _fifth_. Count your fucking blessings,” Jisung scoffed.

Hyunjin nodded acknowledgingly, pursing his lips. “You’re short, so I wouldn’t have thought you’d be packin’. Good on ya, Bin.”

“Good on Lix, too. Lucky bastard,” Chan added, to which Felix grinned.

Jisung, fed up, knocked loudly on the side of the truck, garnering attention. “Okay, great, the mystery’s been solved. Can we _please_ stop talking about our dicks? I’m trying to eat.”

Hyunjin shrugged in apparent agreement. “Alright, fine, then. How about this, Sungie, you wanna tell us what the Hell had you makin’ all that noise last night?”

“Oh, god, no . . .” Jisung hung his head.

Jeongin scowled at him. “I’m traumatized. I’ll never sleep again.”

“We were two rooms down, and even _we_ could hear it,” said Felix, shuddering.

“ _Oh, Minho, oh fuck, Minho, oh! Uhn, uhn, fuck, so good, ah! More, Minho, oh, don’t stop, uhn_!” Hyunjin moaned teasingly, getting up in Jisung’s face. 

Jisung swat him away. “Oh, come off it! I wasn’t that loud, I’m sure of it. I couldn’t have been, anyway. There’s no way.”

“Yeah? How’s that?” Hyunjin challenged.

Jisung sneered at him. “My mouth was full, asshole.”

Minho choked, spitting a piece of fish into his hand and looking at it, bewildered. Chan snickered into his fist, while Felix and Changbin looked at one another with raised eyebrows. Even Hyunjin, for once, had nothing to say, as he stared back at Jisung with an open mouth, stone-still like a TV screen on pause. 

“Traumatized,” Jeongin repeated.

Seungmin whistled, and in an attempt to ease the tension, he asked, “So, uh, _anyway_ , Minho, how would you like to celebrate your birthday?”

“I think he’s celebrated enough,” Hyunjin muttered, earning a flick in the cheek from Minho.

Minho turned to Seungmin and shrugged. “Doesn’t matter to me. Whatever you guys want to do, I’m down with.”

“I was thinking I could pick up some Bailey’s on our way to the cabin,” Chan offered. “We can make a fire and drink some whiskey-and-coffee, or even whiskey-and-cocoa.”

Felix rubbed his tummy. “Mmm, I love the sound of that. I brought Straya and plenty of green, so we’re stocked up in that regard.”

“Yeah, and I brought Avo, too,” Chan added.

Hyunjin grinned. “Great, so we can get fucked the fuck _up_ in the middle of the woods. What could possibly go wrong?”

“With you people, anything that _could_ possibly go wrong _will_ go wrong,” Jisung remarked, with a short exhale through his nose. “Remember that time we went camping last summer? I think that was me, Chan, Changbin, and Hyunjin, right?”

Chan laughed sourly. “Yeah. That was a shitstorm.”

“We lost Changbin for a whole twelve hours,” Hyunjin reminisced shudderingly, a haunted look in his eyes.

“Only twelve? It felt like longer than that,” Changbin huffed.

Felix looked crossly at Hyunjin. “How did you _lose_ a _person_ for twelve fucking hours?”

Hyunjin laughed out loud. “Because we were drunk as all fuck! Like, ass-over-tea-kettle _drunk_ , like, top-ten drunkest I’ve ever been in my _entire life_. One minute Binnie was with us, the next he wasn’t. I don’t remember much of it.”

“He went wandering off into the woods, I don’t remember why. I think he was convinced he’d lost his dog, which he doesn’t have, so he went looking for it and got lost,” Chan recalled. “We set out on a search party the next morning and found him curled up at the base of a tree next to a puddle of vomit. It was so gross.”

Changbin shook his head. “No, no, it wasn’t a dog. I thought I’d lost Gyu.”

“Gyu?” Minho wondered.

“My Munchlax plushie,” Changbin explained. “Truth is, he was in my tent the whole time. I don’t know why I thought to look for him in the _woods_. Like Hyunjin said, we were drunk as shit.”

Felix’s jaw dropped, appalled. “Jesus! You could’ve died!”

“He had two jackets and a blanket with him, he was fine,” Hyunjin insisted, way-too-nonchalantly. “Besides, we found him like, a five-minute walk away from our campsite. He wasn’t really ‘lost,’ he was just so drunk he got disoriented and couldn’t find his way back to us.”

Chan snickered. “And _we_ were so drunk that we didn’t notice he was gone until morning.”

“So, anyway, word of advice,” Jisung interjected, “everyone buddy up tonight, and stick to your buddy like glue. No wandering off alone. If you think you’ve lost something, no you haven’t.”

Minho reached over and grabbed his hand tightly, looking at him and giving him that adorable squarish smile. “You’ll be my buddy?”

Jisung felt a squeeze to his heart, and leaned over to press a kiss to his cheek. “Of course I’ll be your buddy.”

“Ew! Stop it!” Hyunjin complained, throwing a fry so it hit Jisung in the nose and landed in his lap. He promptly ate it with an evil grin.

They finished eating their food amidst conversation that was far more pedestrian, chattering about work and school, easily-digestable and pleasant, however forgettable. After throwing all their take-out containers in the trash, they got back into their respective vehicles and returned to the road, driving a short distance up Route 101 before reaching a turnoff, slowly rumbling along a gravel road past a sign that read _Emerald Forest Cabins & RV_. 

“Is the cabin here?” Jisung wondered. Considering that Minho had said they’d be staying at ‘his dad’s cabin,’ implying the cabin _belonged_ to his dad, he hadn’t expected they’d end up at a public camping spot.

“Yeah. I think my dad has shares-something-or-other in this company, or maybe he knows the owner, I’m not sure, exactly,” Minho detailed. “In any case, he owns a personal cabin on the property, just a short distance from the public cabins. He _could_ rent it out, but he doesn’t, so it’s ours for now.”

Jisung looked around, concerned. “Won’t the owner of this place kick us out if he finds us at the cabin?”

“He might come knocking on the door,” Minho admitted, shrugging, “but he knows who I am, that I’m _Mr. Sean Lee’s_ son, so he won’t kick us out. We’ll just have to lie and say my dad knows we’re here, and then hope he doesn’t tell my dad about it.”

“Will we get in trouble if your dad finds out?” Jisung asked.

“You guys won’t,” Minho promised, forebodingly.

Jisung held some lasting worry at that, but said nothing more. As Chan had stopped back in Trinidad for drinks, their car arrived first. It was a cozy, one-floor log cabin, yet with the lights off and curtains drawn it looked a little bit like a serial killer’s lair. Hyunjin parked out front and turned the car off, giving the building a once-over.

“Huh. A little scary, but we can make it work,” he commented, climbing out of the driver’s seat. 

It had started raining during the drive over, so as he got out, Jisung shielded his eyes from the large droplets that dripped from the canopy of trees above them. He grabbed his bag and shut the car door, following after Minho who walked onto the porch and tried the front door, finding it locked.

“Uh . . . do you have a key?” Jisung asked.

“No, but I know where my dad hides the spare,” Minho replied, walking back off the porch and lifting a fake rock off the ground, revealing a small ring of keys hidden underneath. He sifted through them and unlocked the door, allowing them entry inside.

Upon hitting the lights, Jisung was greeted by a cozy space that smelled of wet pine and dust, illuminated by the yellowish bulbs that hung from a rusty, old chandelier. Directly in front of him was a large, circular rug and two couches arranged in an L-shape and facing a fireplace and regal mantle, above which was a flatscreen TV. Beyond that was the kitchen and, presumably, the bathroom. The wall to his left held three doors, spaced evenly apart and likely leading to bedrooms. 

“Oh, this is nice,” Jeongin commented, sitting himself down on one of the couches and stretching out his legs. “Ahh. Yes, very nice.”

Hyunjin agreed, “Yeah, I can’t see anyone getting lost in the woods tonight. Who would want to leave this place?”

“Still, as a precaution, let’s not get _too_ drunk, hmm?” Jisung suggested, with a pointed look at Hyunjin.

Hyunjin huffed. “Speak for yourself. _I_ have self-control.”

Minho smirked. “Oh, _do_ you, now?”

He didn’t get a response, as Hyunjin’s snarky comeback was interrupted by the entrance of Chan, who walked in double-fisting Bailey’s Irish Cream. Close behind him was Felix, carrying a big, rectangular white box, and Changbin, who was left to shoulder all their bags. Seungmin entered last, looking around himself as he slowly shut the door.

“What’s in the fuckin’ box?” Hyunjin demanded, poorly imitating David Mills from the movie _SE7EN_. 

Felix grinned. “You’ll find out soon enough.”

With that, he followed Chan into the kitchen to deposit the Bailey’s and the box, and then Minho summoned everyone to the couches. He clasped his hands together and began, “Okay, so, here’s the tea. There are only four beds. Two of the rooms have one bed each, and the third has two beds. I say me and Jisung take one of the master rooms, while Felix and Changbin take the other. That means the rest of you have to fight for the last two beds, and the losers have to sleep on the couches.”

Chan, Hyunjin, Seungmin, and Jeongin looked challengingly amongst each other, squinting, seeming about ready to pounce. Before that happened, Felix intervened, “Uh, how about you guys do Rock-Paper-Scissors? Let’s be civil about this.”

“Nah. I’m the bigger man, I’m fine with the couch,” said Chan, putting up his hands in resignation.

“I’m _not_ the bigger man, so I want the bed,” Hyunjin stated.

“Jeonginnie is our youngest, so I’ll give him the bed,” Seungmin decided chivalrously. “I’ll sleep on the couches with Chan.”

Jeongin gazed thankfully at him. Minho nodded and confirmed, “Okay, then, it’s settled. I guess we’ll take a minute to get settled into our rooms, then Felix can show us _what’s in the fuckin’ box_.”

His David Mills impression was equally as atrocious as Hyunjin’s, and Jisung had to stifle his laughter. The group dispersed, all except Chan and Seungmin collecting their bags and making their way into their assigned rooms. Minho and Jisung’s was through the door closest to the entrance, and featured a king-sized bed tucked into the corner, two curtained windows, an empty dresser, and a conjoined bathroom with only simple amenities, like a toilet and sink. They deposited their bags next to the dresser and flopped onto the bed, finding it just as creaky as the hotel bed. If anything, it was _more_ creaky.

“Hmm. We seem to have hit an impasse,” Minho mumbled, bouncing on the bed and generating more noise. “Not to mention, the walls are thinner here than at the hotel. If poor Hyunjin didn’t get any sleep before, he’s _definitely_ not getting any now.”

“Bah, he’ll live,” Jisung said through a cheeky smile. Then, he jutted a thumb toward the door and suggested, “Well, should we join the others? Uncover the mystery of the box?”

He let the opportunity to impersonate David Mills pass him by, as he didn’t trust his skills and wasn’t looking to embarrass himself further than he’d already been embarrassed that day. Minho smiled and looked away for a second, then he pat the bed next to him.

“Wait. Come sit for a moment,” he requested, “we need to talk.”

Jisung gulped, and he felt prickles on his skin. That was never a good sentence to hear. As he went to sit down, he wondered what this could possibly be about. Had he done something wrong? Said something wrong? Had he somehow crossed Minho’s boundaries? Was Minho looking to take their relationship to the next level, or break it off entirely? Surely he wouldn’t dump him on his birthday of all days, right? Especially considering he’d done his ‘special cleaning’ at the hotel earlier, it was unlikely that would be the case, yet still Jisung felt worry creeping into his bones.

“What’s going on?” he asked carefully.

“Nothing, really. It’s just . . .” Minho started quietly, shrugging. “It’s just, well, we’ve reached that point where I have to ask you a very important question. I figure I should do it sooner rather than later.”

Jisung’s eyebrows knitted together, nearly connecting in the middle. “Wh-What question?”

Minho looked down at his lap and sighed. Then, he looked at Jisung with a level and serious gaze, and he asked, “Would you prefer to top, or bottom?”

“Huh?” Jisung wondered, entirely caught off-guard. “What . . . does that mean? Is this about the dick-ranking thing? Or are you planning on buying us a bunk bed?”

Minho giggled cutely, his shoulders shaking, and he shook his head. “No, no. I’m talking about sex. ‘Top’ means you _put_ the dick in the butt, ‘bottom’ means you _take_ the dick in the butt.”

Jisung’s eyes widened, and he could’ve sworn he felt them dry out. Minho putting it so frankly had him feeling like an outdated computer trying to process information beyond its years. He sputtered, trying to collect his thoughts and his words, but he came up with nothing, so he just looked back at Minho, utterly lost.

Minho seemed to understand his position, nodding and patting his leg comfortingly. “Okay, let me try again. So, we’ve been going pretty hot and heavy, therefore I was under the assumption we’d be having proper sex soon. Of course, if you’re not ready for that yet, that’s totally fine, y’know, we can work up to it. I was just thinking, y’know, if we do have sex, it’d be best that we establish our roles beforehand, otherwise it could get awkward, so I—”

He was rambling, now, his nervousness beginning to show itself in the shakiness of his voice. Jisung put a hand out to stop him, smiling shyly. “I get it, now. Sorry, it just took me a minute to process. It’s just that, I was always under the assumption that I would, um, be the ‘top.’ B-But what would you prefer?”

Truth be told, he didn’t think he had it in him to ever bottom. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly why, it just seemed so far from his comfort zone, such a foreign concept to him that he couldn’t even imagine it. Still, he wanted, as always, to please Minho, so when Minho seemed momentarily dejected at his answer, he had a split-second thought that maybe, just maybe, he could see himself as the bottom. If that was what Minho truly wanted, he could, perhaps, work himself up to it.

But Minho just wiped his dejection away, and smiled a little. “I’m okay either way. So, if you want to be the top, I’m fine as the bottom.”

Jisung was thankful for that. “Yeah? It’s just that, I don’t think I could . . . Well, anyway. Besides, you did your ‘special cleaning’ for a reason, right?”

“Right,” Minho agreed, chuckling lightly. “I kinda figured, y’know, that you wouldn’t be comfortable bottoming. You’ve never been with a man, after all, you’re probably already . . . Well, anyway. It’s settled, then.”

At that, Jisung almost wanted to challenge him. His inner competitor rejected the idea that he would be _assumed_ the top—he almost wanted to prove him wrong, change his mind, surprise him. But something stronger held him back, so he said nothing.

With that out of the way, they got up and left the room, returning to the group that was awaiting their arrival in the living room. Felix’s mystery box had been laid out on the coffee table and opened, revealing its contents to be a cake decked out with twenty-two candles that had, at some point, been lit. They’d turned the lights off so the cake glowed brighter, iced white and scrawled with blue swirly letters that read ‘Happy Birthday Minho!’

As he sat down and studied the cake, he made a face. “Did you guys prepare this?”

Chan grinned. “Yeah, I called the bakery in advance so they’d have this ready to pick up. Go on, make a wish, maybe it’ll come true.”

“Come on, you believe in that stuff?” Minho scoffed, though his face was bright. It was always like that with him, Jisung noticed. His words were harsh, but inside his feelings were warm, and his face was the traitor that gave his true nature away. It was one of the things Jisung liked most about him.

Despite his reprimand, he closed his eyes for a moment before blowing the candles out, which was met with scattered applause. Seungmin turned the lights back on, and Hyunjin jumped up and down excitedly, demanding, “Well, what’d you wish for? Huh? Huh? Tell us!”

“Can’t, that’ll destroy the _magic_ ,” Minho said sarcastically. 

Felix cut the cake into squares, placing each on a plate and handing them out. While he did that, Chan pushed a small, wrapped box into Minho’s hands, ushering him to open it. It seemed that, despite his reluctance to celebrate, he was truly excited deep down, as he tore open the box without hesitation, revealing his gift to be a new AirPods case, one that was in the shape of a cat’s paw.

Minho clapped excitedly and embraced Chan in a hug, thanking him. In between bites of cake, he opened his gifts from the other guys—Changbin, Jeongin, and Seungmin bought him gift cards to a sporting goods store, The Source, and a book shop, respectively; Felix got him a new beanie and a pair of socks with cats on them; and Hyunjin purchased a gift card to the very café that he worked at.

Minho gently glared at him. “Really? You know I already get discounts, right? Being an employee and all?”

Hyunjin giggled stupidly. “Sorry, that was a lame joke. I mean, you can keep the card, but I got you a real present, too.”

He presented Minho with his true gift: A couple new pairs of dangly earrings. Minho thanked him, then turned to Jisung, the last one remaining, and said, “Best for last, huh?”

“Ha, no pressure.” Jisung chuckled weakly. He handed his present over—a simple white envelope with Minho’s name scrawled on the back, opened to reveal a card that had a picture of a kitten sitting on a cupcake on it, topped with ‘Happy Birthday!’ written in bubble letters. Inside the card was a short, sappy message that Minho smiled at but didn’t read aloud, as well as a folded receipt, which he looked at, perplexed.

Jisung scratched the back of his neck as he explained, “Er, your gift was too big for me to bring along, but it’s waiting at home. I got you three thermal cat beds, y’know, cat beds that heat up. They’re for Soonie, Doongie, and Dori, not for us, obviously.”

Minho smiled and pulled him into a tight hug, then as they parted, he gave him a lasting, grateful kiss. Hyunjin made a face, but allowed it, focusing instead on his cake. Chan got up and put all the gifts and wrapping paper in neat piles, then departed to the kitchen, quickly whipping up eight cups of Bailey’s coffee with the help of Felix, which they then brought back to the living area and passed around.

Minho got up to get the fire started. Meanwhile, Hyunjin took a noisy sip from his coffee, making an appreciative sound at the taste, then suggested, “Anyone up for a game of Have You Ever?”

“Do I dare ask what that is?” Jeongin muttered.

“It’s like Never Have I Ever, except you ask people what they _have_ done rather than exposing what you _haven’t_ ,” Hyunjin explained.

“So . . . it’s basically just a rebranded version of Truth?” Felix observed.

“Kind of,” Hyunjin admitted, “except the questions are more specific, all prefaced with ‘Have you ever?’”

Chan shrugged. “It’s Minho’s birthday. If he’s down, I’m down.”

“Minho? You game?” Hyunjin asked eagerly.

The fire now crackling, Minho sat back down in his place. “Alright, I’m game. If I can go first.”

Hyunjin relented, allowing it. Minho rubbed his hands together evilly, and attacked, “Changbin, have you ever slept with someone whose name you didn’t know?”

“I’m proud to announce, _no_ , I have not,” Changbin answered easily, “I’m not depraved, like _some_ people in this circle.”

Hyunjin audibly scoffed at that, while Jisung looked at the ceiling, silently whistling. Changbin went on, “Okay, Channie, have you ever gone ‘commando’ in public?”

“Heavens, no,” Chan denied quickly, “I couldn’t. That’d be like if I had double-D’s and went running without a bra. I’d fuckin’ knock some poor soul out with my huge—”

“Okay, no, I’m gonna stop you right there,” Jisung intervened, “we are _not_ having this conversation again.”

Chan smiled playfully, taking a gulp of his coffee before continuing, “Okay, then, Seungminnie. Have you ever been ‘caught in the act’ by a parent, sibling, roommate, friend, etcetera?”

Seungmin flushed pink, looking down into his cup as he mumbled, “Yes.”

“Ooh, we _need_ to hear this story!” Hyunjin pressed, his limbs jittering with excitement.

“What’s there to say? I was in high school, senior year, my girlfriend was over at my place, we were fooling around, and my mom walked in,” Seungmin recalled, embarrassed. “I was scarred forever, I got the scolding of a lifetime, _and_ my girlfriend dumped me. Worst experience I’ve had so far.”

Hyunjin was cackling, clutching his stomach, completely unsympathetic. Seungmin scowled, and jabbed, “Okay, then, since you like laughing at my misfortune so much. Hyunjin, have you ever slept with a friend’s sister?”

“Oh, God . . .” Hyunjin cringed, hiding his head in his hands. “Okay, fine, yeah, I have. _Relax_ , it wasn’t any of you guys’ sisters. It was my friend in high school, we were on the swim team together, and his sister was _hot_. She had it out for me, so, we fucked a few times thinking he’d never find out. Well, he did, and he refused to talk to me after that.”

Jisung was laughing profusely, his head thrown back against the couch. “Oh, my God, I remember that! He was _so_ pissed at you, it was hilarious. Sad, yes, but also hilarious.”

“And I _still_ kept sleeping with his sister, at least until she got a boyfriend and blew me off. Whatever, he was a shitty friend anyway,” Hyunjin recounted, waving his hand dismissively. “Moving on. Lixie, have you ever role-played in the bedroom?”

Felix looked at him like the answer was obvious. “You’re really asking me this? We’ve already established I’m into ropes and blindfolds, for fuck’s sake. You really think role-playing is beyond my breadth?”

“Fine then, smartass, what have you role-played?” Hyunjin sneered, rolling his eyes.

“Ah-ah, no, all I have to do is answer the question, which I have. I’m keeping my exploits to myself,” Felix refused. “The only person who needs to know the dirty details is Changbin.”

Hyunjin hummed, interested. “Yes, of course. On that subject, Bin, has Felix broke out the ropes with you yet, or are you working up to that?”

“Don’t answer that, he’s just being obnoxious,” Felix ordered Changbin.

“No! I’m not _just_ being obnoxious, I’m genuinely curious!” Hyunjin argued.

“Still.” Felix made a face at him. Then, he turned to Jisung, a curled and devilish smile creeping up on his face. “Okay, Jisungie, answer me this: Have you ever swallowed after giving a BJ?”

Silence gripped the group, save for Hyunjin slurping noisily from his cup again. It was the most overtly-sexual question of the night, and it was also clear that this one was specifically targeted. Minho looked down and itched behind his red-tipped ear, while Jisung glared at Felix, who still had that curled-up smile plastered on his annoying face.

“You’re only asking me this because you _know_ I sucked him off last night,” he grumbled.

Felix nodded, hiding nothing. “Yes. Now answer the question.”

“Fine,” Jisung huffed, then took a long gulp from his cup before finishing, “yeah, I did swallow. There, you happy? Will you sleep better knowing that?”

“Okay, okay, no need to get nasty,” Chan interjected hastily. “I honestly don’t know why we keep playing these kinds of games, it always gets too serious.”

“That’s what makes it fun, though,” Seungmin offered.

The situation was then diffused by Chan turning on the TV, flipping through the channels to find one playing full movies, landing on, ironically enough, a channel playing the movie _SE7EN_. It had only been playing for about five minutes, so they watched almost the whole thing, Felix shielding Jeongin’s eyes from the more gruesome scenes despite the youngest’s protests, and Jisung cowering in Minho’s arms at every jumpscare. 

By well past nightfall, they’d gone through two cups of Bailey’s coffee each, and had finished two horror movies, both _SE7EN_ and _The Babadook_. Felix, Changbin, Hyunjin, and Chan went outside to smoke up, inviting Minho and Jisung along, but they mutually decided they wouldn’t partake. Jeongin grew tired and retired to his bedroom with a sleepy good-night, and Seungmin started setting up his bed on the couch, laying out blankets and pillows until he was satisfied with it, or at least, as satisfied as he could possibly be.

The four smokers returned, and they all, minus Jeongin, decided to play a quick game of _Uno_ , Chan dealing out the cards and Felix scrawling their names out on the scorecard. They played several rounds, Minho winning almost every one while Hyunjin came in last, and after his eleventh consecutive loss, Hyunjin slapped his hand down on the table and gave up. 

“You’re such a sore sport,” Minho reprimanded, pompously looking down his nose at him.

“No, I just know when I’ve been beaten,” Hyunjin argued, his hands on his hips. “So, rather than suffering more abuse and humiliation, I’ll just cut my losses. I know, it’s a concept that you competitive pricks could never understand.”

Minho made a loud, high-pitched noise of disbelief. Chan put his hand down on the table as well and, shrugging, he said, “Well, before the claws come out, I say we call it a night. We all need some proper rest.”

“Yeah.” Hyunjin nodded. Then, with a sneer at Jisung and Minho, he added, “Not that these two’ll get any, though.”

Minho smiled evenly. “Just for that, I’ll make sure _you_ don’t get any, either. Don’t forget, your room is next to ours.”

Hyunjin pointed a haunting gaze at the far wall as his face drained of colour. “I’ve got you two on one side, and Bin and Felix on the other. Oh, _shit_.”

Chan let out a panicked chuckle. “Er, don’t forget, Hyunjin’s not the only other person in this cabin. We’re _all_ trying to sleep. Please, for the love of God, do us the good favour of biting the pillows.”

“Okay, Channie, we’ll do it for you,” Felix promised sunnily.

“Sure thing, Chan,” Minho agreed. Then he pointed a glare at Hyunjin. “But you, mister, are on thin fucking ice.”

“Me? What did _I_ do?” Hyunjin demanded.

Chan stood up quickly and started gesturing to the rooms. “Okay, time for bed! You’re getting cranky, I can tell. Sleep it off, both of you.”

Hyunjin cast him a sarcastic salute as he got up off the couch. “Fine, fine, I hear ya. G’night, boys.”

They bid him good-night and he departed to his room. Felix and Changbin followed suit soon after, and at that point, Chan started ushering Minho and Jisung to get off his couch so he could prepare his bedding. They wished him a restful sleep and left, Minho lying down on the bed as soon as he got in while Jisung took a bathroom break. When he reentered the room, he found Minho cooing at his phone screen, and, curious, he approached.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Jisung asked, sitting at the edge of the bed by Minho’s feet.

He turned his phone around to show Jisung, revealing that he was on FaceTime with Hayden, who was holding Soonie up to the camera. Jisung chuckled to himself. Of course, the best birthday gift Minho could possibly receive would be to see his babies, and of course he’d want to check in on them, and make sure Hayden was performing his duty correctly.

“How’ve they been? Are they eating enough? Are they getting enough exercise?” Minho rattled off question after question, the glint in his eye acting as a subtle threat to Hayden.

“Relax. I’m following all your instructions to a T, they’re fine,” Hayden promised. “Though, try as I might, Doongie won’t give me the time of day. She hardly even lets me pet her. All she does is meow at me, and I dunno what she’s saying, but it sounds insulting.”

Minho laughed. “That’s Doongie, all right. I told you she wouldn’t like you, she barely likes _me_.”

“How’s your trip been, though? Are you at the cabin already?” Hayden wondered, which could scarcely be heard over Soonie’s purring.

“Yes, we’re here. Peter, say hi,” Minho told him, turning his phone around to face Jisung again.

“Oh. Um. Hi,” Jisung mumbled, caught off-guard.

Hayden’s mouth curled into a wry smile. “Hey there, hot stuff. Have _you two_ been having a fun vacation?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s been, uh,” Jisung coughed into his fist, “ _fun_.”

Minho turned his phone back around. “Dennis, I told you already, paws off. He’s sucked my dick, he’s sworn to me now.”

Hayden made a loud retching sound. “Stop it, I hate when you call me Dennis. It’s such a hetero-dad name.”

“That’s exactly why I do it,” Minho sang. “Anyway, I was just checking in. We’ll be back in a couple days, so I’ll see you then.”

“Or you’ll see me tomorrow, when you inevitably end up worrying about your cats _again_ ,” Hayden teased. “See ya.”

Minho hung up with a small eye-roll and put his phone face-down on the bedside table, then started poking Jisung in the side with his toes. Jisung looked down at his socked foot, which continued jabbing into him, right in his pressure point. He grabbed Minho’s foot with one hand, then with the other he started wiggling his big toe.

“What? Why you poke me?” he asked, in English, batting his eyelashes and jutting out his bottom lip in a pout.

Minho made a coy _mrrow_ -ing noise, sitting up and crawling forward on his hands and knees, laying his head on Jisung’s shoulder. “So, you bought me some cat beds as a birthday present, hmm?”

“ _Thermal_ cat beds. They heat up,” Jisung corrected. He started petting Minho’s hair, stroking it gently and scratching his scalp just behind his ears, as though he was a cat himself. “Why? You don’t like your gift? I can get you something else . . .”

Minho placed a sweet kiss to his neck, shaking his head. “No, no, I love it. I was just wondering, y’know . . . is there anything _else_ you were gonna give me?”

Jisung caught onto the sultry undertones of Minho’s words, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. He turned his body toward Minho, bringing his legs up onto the bed, and placed a palm gently on Minho’s thigh. “Like what?”

“You tell me. It’s _my_ birthday, after all,” Minho purred, tilting his head up so the tip of his nose brushed against Jisung’s. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise, now, would I?”

Jisung began crawling forward, Minho moving with him, leaning gradually backward until his head hit the pillow and Jisung loomed over him, their gazes locked the whole way. Jisung carefully let his hand travel up from Minho’s thigh, to his chest and then to his cheek. Stroking his skin softly, he murmured, “Well, what would you like your gift to be?”

“Hm, let me think . . .” Minho hummed, tapping his chin. With a playful smile, he then said, “How about . . . you, naked, wrapped up nicely in a bow?”

Jisung chuckled quietly. “If you can find me enough ribbon, I can definitely make that happen.”

Minho smirked, then closed the distance between them, placing a warm kiss to his lips, which Jisung accepted and quickly deepened, pressing into him hungrily. Perhaps it was the leftover horniness from their two-man shower that morning, or perhaps it was the way Minho gracefully slipped his tongue past Jisung’s lips, or the way he trailed his hands up Jisung’s body—whatever it was, it had heat pooling in his stomach and his pants getting tighter by the second. 

Minho started fiddling with the buttons of Jisung’s shirt, undoing them one by one before it could be slipped off his shoulders. Then, he ran his hands beneath his white tee, feeling the ridges of his abdomen and the slope of his waist, toying with the hem of his jeans. Jisung matched him, placing his own hands under Minho’s shirt and going right for his chest, circling his thumbs around his nipples, making him squirm.

“Fuck, Jisung, I’m already . . .” his words tapered off, and he broke free of Jisung’s mouth to look down. Jisung followed his eyes to see the prominent bulge in the front of his pants, and he smirked.

“Me too,” he said, pressing his own erection against Minho’s. Then, he brought his lips to Minho’s ear, and whispered, “But, it’s your birthday. I’ll do whatever you want me to, whatever you ask. So tell me, what shall I do first?”

Minho’s hips bucked upwards slightly, and a small whine escaped his throat. There was a distant look of uncertainty in his eyes as he replied, “I-I don’t know, do whatever you want . . .”

Jisung let out a short exhale through his nose. “It’s up to you. What’s something that you really, really like? Maybe something you haven’t had in a while? I want to treat you tonight.”

Minho looked up in thought, and his eyes widened as an idea seemed to come to him. But then he shook his head, biting his lip awkwardly. “No, I . . . I wouldn’t ask you to do that. It’s fine, you can do what you want.”

“Nah, tell me. I want to hear it, at least,” Jisung insisted.

“Well . . .” Minho inhaled deeply, and wouldn’t look Jisung in the eyes as he said, “It’s . . . rimming?”

Jisung looked quizzically back at him. “I . . . I’m not sure what that is, but if you explain it to me, I’ll do my best.”

Minho chuckled, biting his lip again. “The layman’s term for it is ‘eating ass.’ B-But, you don’t have to, it’s just . . . that’s something I . . . like.”

Jisung smiled and his eyebrows turned up as if to say, ‘That’s all?’ He kissed Minho hotly, pressing his thumbs into his nipples again and grinding his hips down into him. Then, in a low tone, he said, “So, you want me to eat you out? Okay. No biggie.”

“‘No biggie’?” Minho repeated, sounding surprised. “Really?”

“I’ve eaten ass before,” Jisung told him matter-of-factly.

“You _have_?” Minho choked out.

“Yeah.” Jisung rolled his eyes playfully. “‘Cause I’m not a _baby_. As Ali Wong once said, ‘If you haven’t eaten ass yet, grow up. Grow the fuck up.’”

Minho snorted. “You’re silly.”

Jisung laughed and leaned down to kiss him again, their lips moving together as one, their tongues dancing a slow tango between them. They parted only long enough for Minho’s shirt to be stripped off over his head, after which Minho started undoing his belt and the front of his pants while Jisung gently sucked a small hickey into the side of his neck, gazing at the trail of marks he’d left two days ago, leading from his ear to his chest. He followed that trail again, tracing the line with butterfly kisses until he got to his nipple, where he flattened his tongue and began lapping at it, his hand still tracing circles around the other.

Minho was moaning, carding his fingers through Jisung’s hair, gripping onto it and pulling, which should’ve hurt but it only served to make Jisung needier. He continued travelling down Minho’s body, reaching his carved abdomen and leaving kisses around his navel, his hands gripping Minho’s waist and kneading his skin. Jisung wanted to appreciate every inch of him, touch and kiss and lick everything; but at the same time, his excitement was getting the better of him, Minho’s desperate noises egging him on to do more, go further, get to the good part.

He latched onto Minho’s jeans, wriggling them down as far as he could considering their current positions. With a short laugh, he requested, “Lift your butt a bit.”

Minho obliged, raising his hips so that his pants could be removed, leaving only his briefs. Jisung discarded the jeans and placed a palm against the bulge in Minho’s underwear, rubbing it gently, generating soft whines from him. He then grinned as he slipped his fingers beneath the elastic, and he asked, “May I?”

Upon receiving a nod of affirmation, he removed the briefs, revealing Minho’s length amongst all the smooth, clean-shaven skin. But before he could do anything more, Minho sat up, gripping Jisung’s shirt and tugging on it.

“Too much clothes,” he complained, in a tiny voice, “take off?”

Jisung suppressed the urge to squeal at his cuteness and quickly removed his top layer, followed by, at Minho’s request, his jeans as well. He kept his boxers on, though, as he didn’t want to pull _too_ much focus, still insistent that this be all about Minho. He resumed peppering kisses on Minho’s stomach, moving down the ‘V’ of his hips to the crook of his leg, but decidedly avoiding his erection that leaked and begged for attention. He ignored it, lifting Minho’s knee up and placing kisses on his thigh, sucking every so often but not enough to leave marks. Minho had his index finger pinched between his teeth to hold his noises in, and when he noticed that, Jisung took hold of his wrist to carefully pull his hand away from his mouth.

“Don’t hold it in. I want to hear you,” he said softly. Then, he hooked his hands under both of Minho’s knees and lifted his legs up to his chest, essentially folding him in half. “Upsy-daisy!”

Minho giggled shyly, wiggling his feet. Jisung began kissing his other thigh, this time sucking marks into his skin in between gentle licks, feeling Minho’s muscles flex beneath his tongue. He was certainly a dancer, that was clear to see in the defined strength of his legs, yet his thighs were still soft, supple, mouldable in his hands. It seemed that every part of Minho’s body excited him, as he felt his own dick twitch in his briefs each time he squeezed his thighs; and Minho seemed to enjoy it, too, whining quietly with every kiss and lick, every movement of his hands.

“Sensitive here, too?” Jisung asked, remembering his reactions to him touching his chest and kissing his neck. He wanted to know every place, besides the obvious places, that Minho was most sensitive, he wanted to know everything that made him tick. Minho nodded, and Jisung added, “Duly noted.”

He kissed a line down the underside of his right thigh, reaching the crook where his leg met his butt, and he ran his hands slowly down both his thighs, grabbing the flesh of his cheeks, feeling it squish between his fingers. He continued kissing him, pressing his lips against his skin, gradually moving closer to the middle. Minho began to whine louder in anticipation, and Jisung loved the sound so much he elected to make him wait even more, kissing him everywhere except the place he wanted it most.

“No . . . don’t tease,” Minho begged, wiggling his feet again, “meanie.”

Jisung chuckled self-indulgently. “No? Where do you want it, then?”

“You know exactly where,” Minho huffed, greedy, circling his hips, pushing his behind further into Jisung’s hands.

He did know. Of course he knew, he just wanted Minho to say it, wanted to make him beg for it. He dragged his hand up Minho’s thigh to his knee, then back down, pressing his fingernails lightly into his skin, all the while Minho quivered and whined, his reactions to Jisung’s touching ranging from very subtle to obscenely overt. 

Finally, he’d had enough, and while he ran a hand through Jisung’s hair, he pleaded, “Please . . . Jisung, please, I want it so bad . . .”

His voice was so small, his words nearly-inaudible, and Jisung felt a switch flip within him, something being set off. Minho had been cutely shy in the beginning, afraid of admitting what he wanted lest he scare Jisung away, but now he was so deeply into his own desire that he wasn’t just telling Jisung what he wanted, he was _begging_ for it. It also felt like a slap to the face, being so distinctly different from how he was the night before—he’d gone from almost frighteningly domineering to adorably malleable, as though he were made of ice and that ice was now melting, melting under Jisung’s touch.

With one final, soft kiss to his thigh, Jisung relented, “Okay, baby.”

He gripped the undersides of his thighs and pulled the flesh apart, revealing the tightly-clenched ring of Minho’s ass, twitching as soon as Jisung set eyes on it. He was, as he’d promised, clean-shaven _everywhere_ , and it was either that he’d gotten himself bleached or his flesh was naturally that shade of pink—dainty and pretty, like a rose in full bloom. Minho panted, his bottom lip caught in his teeth, coy and anxious, his hands hooked under his own knees to hold his legs up. 

Jisung decided he wouldn’t waste any more time, and gave Minho what he wanted. He licked a long stripe from his tailbone to his taint, feeling Minho’s legs tense up as he let out a moan, and his toes curled. Jisung licked another stripe up the same way, repeating the action again and again, shorter each time until it was zeroed in on Minho’s hole, when he circled his tongue around the rim, pleased to find that, like his dick, it had no taste. Perhaps he owed that to Minho’s mysterious ‘special cleaning.’ If anything, it tasted faintly of soap, like Thrills gum, which he happened to enjoy. 

“ _Ah_ , fuck, Jisung, more, _please_ ,” Minho begged, his voice noticeably higher than normal, pitchy with every moan that slipped past his lips, in the shuddering of every intake of breath. “Please, _more_ , please, Jisung, fucking _please_ . . .”

Jisung smirked. “Mm, you really like this, don’t you?”

“God, _yes_ ,” Minho said, his brows knitted and his eyes pooled darkly with desperation, half-lidded and gazing at Jisung in a silent plea. “I _really_ like it, please don’t stop—”

It was dizzying, exhilarating, hearing Minho begging like this. He continued licking him, alternating between circles and stripes, between laves and laps, drinking in the sound of his keening and the feeling of his entire body quaking, shivering in pleasure. As he dragged his tongue along the ring of muscle, he felt it gradually loosen, a likely subconscious action that was a telltale sign of how aroused Minho was, how much he truly wanted and enjoyed what Jisung was doing. Jisung dug his thumbs into the flesh on either side of his hole and spread it, stretching his muscle and licking more of it, dipping the tip of his tongue just slightly past his entrance, and each time he did so, Minho involuntarily tightened around the intrusion and let out a high whine. 

Jisung paused for a moment to grunt, “You are _so_ fucking sexy.”

Minho giggled. “Which part of me?”

“Every part,” Jisung replied earnestly, rubbing his leg. “Your voice is so cute, and the way you’re looking at me . . . Your whole body is beautiful. I love your pretty tummy, your thighs, your ass and your slutty little hole . . . Fuck.”

Minho’s breath hitched at his words, and he squirmed in place, his eyes flashing with unmasked lust. Jisung resumed his ministrations, laving his tongue over his entrance before toughening it and pushing it past the tight ring, fucking him with it, making Minho grab his hair and _pull_ , his thighs meeting Jisung’s ears and squeezing his head, his pretty voice ringing out and ricocheting off the walls. Jisung wouldn’t hesitate to claim that Minho was more excited by this than he was getting blown, as this had a different, almost hexing effect on him, coaxing full-body reactions from him, and Jisung was more aroused by it than he’d been by anything else involving Minho, which was _saying_ something.

Suddenly, Minho’s voice cracked, and he pushed his palm against Jisung’s head, tapping it fervently. Jisung looked up, and Minho breathlessly said, “St-Stop, for a second, _fuck_ , I’m gonna go fucking crazy . . .”

“Feels good?” Jisung asked him, resting his cheek against his thigh.

Minho exhaled disbelievingly, letting his head fall back into the pillow and groaning. He looked back up, smiling weakly, and whispered, “It feels _so_ good, Jisung . . . I can’t fucking take it, God, it’s been so long since . . .”

“Jamie never did this?” Jisung wondered aloud, without thinking. He figured, too late, that perhaps bringing up an ex at a time like this was in poor taste, but he couldn’t retract his words.

Minho, luckily, didn’t seem bothered by his question. He laughed sourly. “No, he didn’t. All he ever did was get me to blow him and fucked me doggy-style. That should’ve been my first clue he wasn’t all that into me.”

He seemed dejected at the memory. Jisung scoffed, “Huh! So, he’s not only an asshole, but a pussy, too? Well. He missed out big time.”

“More for you, then, hmm?” Minho mused, shaking his hips invitingly.

Jisung hummed in agreement and pressed his thumb flush against his entrance, rubbing it in slow circles. Minho tilted his head back again, moaning inwardly and playing with Jisung’s hair. Jisung spread him open, licking him with a soft tongue, then tracing his rim slowly, feeling it clench and unclench as the grip on his hair got tighter. He pushed his tongue inside, Minho keening, crying out in a cracked voice, pleading barely-coherently for more as his thighs squeezed Jisung’s head. It seemed he couldn’t control it, so wrought with pleasure that his limbs did as they wished, going against his own will.

“Which do you like better? Outside or in?” Jisung murmured, swiping his tongue across his hole in between words.

“I don’t know, _fuck_ , I like it all,” Minho moaned, chest heaving. “It just feels so _good_ , Jisung, please don’t stop, _unh_ . . .”

Despite his words, Jisung deduced that he did, even if only slightly, prefer the interior attention, finding that his reactions reached their peak every time he dipped his tongue inside. As such, Jisung focused on that, letting the tip of his tongue delve beyond the rim with every lick, alternating between quick laps and slow drags, all the while digging his nails lightly into the skin of Minho’s thighs every so often. He didn’t shy away from getting his face right in there, his nose pressed flush to Minho’s perineum and his cheeks against Minho’s cheeks. It was crass, dirty, and primal, and Jisung loved every part of it.

Minho had both his hands in Jisung’s hair, struggling to hold his legs up on his own, muscles twitching and tensing, his back arching off the bed and his head thrown back into the pillow, open-mouthed panting in between high whines and incoherent pleas. Beneath his hands, Jisung could feel Minho’s skin going clammy with sweat, despite being buck-naked in a room with heaters so old they scarcely spat out more than dust; and beneath his tongue, Jisung could feel Minho’s hole stretching and loosening, like taffy in a taffy-puller, and it only got easier to push his tongue inside him, making Minho squeal and tug on his hair.

“Fu— _Fuck_ , Jisuuung!” Minho groaned desperately, his thighs squeezing Jisung’s head, again. “Fuck, oh God, deeper, _please_ —”

Jisung pulled away and snorted. “My tongue is only so long, you know.”

Minho looked down at him and whined in a pathetic, sad manner, begging with his eyes. Jisung glanced at his hole, puckered and twitching and slick with his spit, and he pushed his tongue between his teeth, biting it, thinking. He slowly dragged his right hand down Minho’s thigh, bringing his fingertips to brush against his entrance, his middle finger pressing onto it.

“Can I?” Jisung asked, studying Minho’s face carefully, tracing the ring of muscle in a slow circle.

Minho exhaled breathlessly. “Y-You mean . . . finger me? You want to?”

Jisung nodded. “If you’ll let me.”

Minho’s pupils dilated so much they turned almost entirely black, and he shuddered from the tips of his toes to the top of his head, biting his bottom lip. He whispered, in a strained voice, “Yes . . . God, yes, _please_ . . . There’s uh, there’s some . . . lube, um, in my bag.”

Jisung hummed. “Ah. How forward-thinking of you.”

“Says you, Mr. Blowjob-Scholar,” Minho teased.

“Yeah.” Jisung chuckled. “We’re both so smart when it comes to sex, huh?”

Minho smirked. “It’s a shame we can’t be smart when it comes to literally anything else.”

Jisung got up off the bed and crept across the room, kneeling by Minho’s duffel. He rooted around inside it until he found what he was looking for—a small, travel-sized bottle of lube, hidden in one of the side pockets next to, he noticed, a roll of condoms. Interesting.

He brought the item back with him, settling into his spot between Minho’s legs, which he’d put down to rest for a moment only to lift them once again. As with most sexual tools, Jisung was well-acquainted with lubricant, and knew exactly how to use it. He popped the cap and squirted a generous amount onto his first three fingers, spreading it with his thumb to warm it, then squirted some on Minho’s hole, too, for good measure. Minho watched him, still biting his lip, brows turned up and eyes dark, his toes curled in anticipation.

Jisung pressed his middle finger flush to Minho’s hole once again, circling his rim once before pushing inside, gently, careful not to hurt him, as it was an incredibly tight squeeze. Another shiver traveled up Minho’s body once Jisung’s finger was inserted up to his knuckle, and he pushed further, coaxing out a moan from deep in Minho’s chest. 

“Holy shit, that’s tight,” Jisung mumbled, wriggling his finger as much as he could, which wasn’t much. Minho’s walls squeezed against the intrusion, sucking it in, a hold so strong that Jisung had to fight it to pull his finger back out, before slowly pushing in again. He started off on a rhythm, twisting and bending his finger, unable to look away from the sight of it disappearing inside Minho, like it was being bitten off. Regrettably, he’d never had the biggest hands, but even though he couldn’t reach very far inside, he had Minho whining with every movement, and his legs ceaselessly quivering, breaths harsh and voice wrought, wrecked, his head back, exposing the span of his throat.

As he continued, it got gradually easier to move his finger in and out, the lube aiding in the slide, slippery and wet, generating crude squelching sounds, but those were nothing compared to the raw vulgarity leaving Minho’s lips, his moans rivaling those of seasoned porn stars. On one push in, Jisung curled his finger, more in an attempt to loosen him further than anything else, but as soon as he did it, Minho’s back arched almost dangerously high, and he let out a very genuine, sudden cry, squeezing his knees together involuntarily.

Jisung looked at him, shocked, his eyebrows raised. Experimentally, he pressed the tip of his finger into the same spot again, feeling a certain hardness there, if only slight. Like before, Minho’s back lifted off the bed and he moaned, wrought and sexy, from deep in his throat.

“Oh, _fuck_ , right there, again, _hah_ —” Minho begged, clutching the sheets in both fists, his body tense.

“Here?” Jisung mused, pressing into that spot again and rubbing. “You like it here?”

Minho near-screamed, loud enough that if anyone else in the cabin was sleeping, they sure as fuck weren’t anymore. Jisung couldn’t be assed about that, though, when he was so thoroughly intrigued by this new discovery, twisting his finger in and out of Minho, thrusting mercilessly into that spot each time, and Minho kept crying out desperately, pulling on the sheets and _sobbing_ , his breathing choked and heaving from his chest. 

Confused yet delighted, Jisung wondered, “What’s so special about here?”

Minho, through sucking in breaths, chuckled. “That there . . . would be the prostate . . . I guess you found it by accident, then?”

“What the Hell is a ‘prostate’?” Jisung asked, scrunching up his face at the unfamiliar word. 

“The male G-spot,” Minho explained. “You really never heard of it?”

Jisung shook his head, expression full of wonder. He’d heard of the ‘G-spot’ in women, all about whether it existed or was a myth, and he’d had some past partners tell him ‘Right there!’ in bed, but he’d had no idea the same could apply to men.

“Male G-spot, huh,” Jisung mumbled. “Do I have one?”

Minho snorted. “I sure fuckin’ hope so. It’s an important component in the male reproductive system, y’know.”

“Ah. You learn something new every day,” Jisung absorbed. “So, it’s, what, an organ?”

“Mm, more like a gland,” Minho corrected, “it helps to make the switch between urination and ejaculation, and provides the alkaline element in semen that protects it from the acidic environment of the vagina. Without it, we wouldn’t be able to procreate.”

Jisung did a mouth-shrug, deeply interested. He’d learned many new things just now, including the fact that vaginas were _acidic_ —which was not the first word he’d use to describe them—and that Minho, apparently, had a brain for science. He said, “I see. Very important, then, indeed. _And_ it feels good when I poke it? Is there anything it can’t do?”

Minho laughed generously again, and purposefully tightened himself around Jisung’s finger. “Yeah. Real good. So, are we gonna continue this sex-ed lesson, or are you gonna finger-fuck me?”

“Right, yes, sorry,” Jisung stammered, refocusing on his task. Knowing what he now knew, he toyed with it, pressing into Minho’s ‘prostate,’ rubbing it with his fingertip, twisting in and out, and he had Minho moaning out with every push, his body shaking and his legs kicking, unable to contain his pleasure within his frame. As Jisung quickened his speed, he got louder, near-screaming again, grappling for something to hold onto, calling out pitchy whines and dirty words, hollering Jisung’s name.

Jisung was invested in it, in the reactions of Minho’s body, in the sound of his voice—so invested, in fact, that he didn’t even notice how loud Minho was getting, every word he cried sounding like sweet music to his ears. He was just about to insert another finger when suddenly an ear-splitting banging sounded from behind the wall, scaring Jisung enough that he nearly leaped out of his own skin. They froze in place, Minho covering his mouth, looking at each other with spooked eyes, like they believed the cabin was haunted.

“Can you two _shut up_ in there?” came a voice from behind the wall. It was Hyunjin, tired and annoyed. “I’m trying to sleep, so fuck quieter! Jesus Christ!”

They remained frozen for a moment longer, then collapsed into a fit of giggling, tears pricking at the corner of Jisung’s eyes as he fought for air. Hyunjin’s voice came again, this time barking, “Yeah, ha-ha, laugh it up. Y’all are _so_ funny.”

“Damn, the walls _are_ thin, aren’t they?” Jisung laughed.

“Unfortunately yes, they apparently are,” Minho snickered.

“Well, as much as I love hearing you,” Jisung decided, “maybe bite the pillow? Just for the sake of poor Jinnie’s sanity.”

Minho nodded, stuffing a mouthful of his pillow between his teeth and giving him a thumbs-up. Jisung laughed one more time before shaking himself out of it, pressing the tips of his middle and ring fingers to Minho’s entrance and pushing in, curling them, shoving them savagely into his prostate. Minho’s moans were still just as sexy muffled, if not _more_ sexy, as he clenched his teeth around the pillow to contain them, his eyes rolling back into his head. Jisung stretched his two fingers apart as much as he could, scissoring him open, moving them faster and harder, making Minho’s whole body twitch as he let out more quiet whines, gripping his pillow for dear life.

Jisung inserted a third finger once Minho was loose enough to allow it, his hole squeezing around the three appendages, getting tighter every time he brushed against his prostate, every jab into it making Minho jerk and squeal, his back arching so much Jisung thought his spine would break. His forehead was getting sweaty, his hair sticking to it, his arm cramping and aching, but he wouldn’t stop pleasuring Minho, fucking into him with reckless abandon. Jisung shook the hair from his eyes and looked down, at Minho’s twitching cock, tomato-red at the tip and leaking a substantial amount, his pre-cum pooling into his belly button. 

Jisung decided he’d ignored it long enough, and he bent down, licking a long stripe up Minho’s dick, using his left hand to lift it and guide it past his lips while his right hand continued fucking him. Minho’s hips bucked, pushing his cock further into his mouth, but he welcomed it, sucking him hard, his tongue swirling around it. Minho was wailing, now, his sounds mostly absorbed by the pillow but still loud enough for Jisung to hear, and looking at him, Jisung saw tears running down his cheeks, his whole body continuing to shake. Minho opened his eyes, his gaze locking with Jisung’s, and as soon as it did, he screamed, pushing his dick almost into Jisung’s throat as he came, hard, tensing and writhing in place, spitting the pillow out so he could breathe.

Jisung popped off his cock and swallowed thickly, licking his lips as he slowly pulled his fingers out. Minho laid out flat like a starfish, chest rising and falling, looking straight up at the ceiling with wide, fucked-out eyes, red from his cheeks to his ears to his neck. Jisung almost came, himself, looking at Minho like this, ruddy all over and spent, jellylike from what he’d done to him. 

He chuckled breathily. “Good?”

“ _Fucking Hell_ ,” Minho swore. He propped up his pillow so he could sit up a little and looked at Jisung, still panting and red-faced, eyes glittering with euphoria. “I don’t think I’ve come that hard in years . . . You’re amazing.”

The praise, again. Jisung felt tingles go down his body, his cock twitching so madly in his briefs he had to hold it, his own need so dizzyingly aching he thought he’d pass out. He blinked through the ordeal, his face changing from prideful to listless, pleading, and he looked at Minho like a puppy begging for food, swallowing the whine that threatened to escape his throat.

Minho’s eyes scanned him up and down. He purred, “You’re still horny, huh? You wanna come, too? Want me to touch you, or do you want my mouth?”

He was using that tone again, the belittling one that Jisung hated so much he loved it, the one that turned him on so much it made him feel faint. He gulped, and mewled, “I . . . I don’t know, whatever you want. You don’t have to do anything, if you’re tired. This was supposed to be about you.”

“Mm-hmm, and pleasing you pleases me,” said Minho, with a snarky grin that made Jisung feel small, and made his cock twitch again. “Here, I’ve got an idea. Pass me that lube.”

Jisung didn’t hesitate for even a second, snatching the bottle from the bed and giving it to him. Minho opened the cap and squirted some into his hand, spreading it on one of his thighs, then on the other. Jisung looked at him like he’d gone crazy, but Minho wouldn’t explain, just beckoned him forward with a hand, so Jisung shuffled toward him. 

“Drop trou,” Minho ordered. Jisung quickly shimmied out of his briefs, his cock sticking out in front of him, reddened and leaking an embarrassing amount. Minho sat up just enough to reach it, slathering the entire length with lube, making Jisung throw his head back and groan. 

“Okay, stay there,” Minho directed, lying back down. Jisung was sitting up on his knees, his dick positioned above Minho, who stuck his legs straight up in the air, then slowly closed them, his slicked thighs meeting either side of Jisung’s cock and squeezing it. 

Jisung let out a shocked exhale, and leaned over to look at Minho. “Wh-What . . . is this?”

“What’s it look like? Go, move,” Minho instructed.

Jisung looked down at his dick, trapped between Minho’s soft thighs, and he shrugged. He pulled his hips back, and immediately crumpled over, a moan escaping him. He pushed forward, and started to understand, Minho’s thighs rubbing every inch of him, squishy and wet, stroking his length and making him quiver. He wrapped his arms around Minho’s shins and hugged his legs to his chest, beginning to move faster, panting desperately and biting his lip so he’d stay quiet, and he looked down at Minho, who watched him with an amused expression, drinking in the view of Jisung, aroused and using his body to get off. It was almost humiliating, which only served to get him off faster.

“How’s it feel?” he asked, in a gravelly tone.

“It feels . . . _ah, shit_ . . .” Jisung choked out, pressing his forehead to Minho’s achilles heel. Then, he looked back into Minho’s face, and grunted, “It feels like I’m fucking you.”

Minho smirked. “Mm. You like that? You wanna fuck me? Be inside me? Feel me squeezing around you, make me moan and come with that pretty cock of yours?”

Jisung tossed his head back, moving faster, feeling himself getting closer by the second. “ _Fuck_ , Minho . . . _Unh_ , shit, don’t talk like that, fuck . . .”

“Talk like what?” Minho cooed, innocently. “You don’t like me talking dirty?”

“I like it _too much_ ,” Jisung moaned, body vibrating, digging his nails into Minho’s skin in an attempt to ground himself.

Minho hummed contentedly, glancing down to watch Jisung’s dick moving between his thighs. “You’ve got such a nice cock, Jisungie. I bet you’d drive me crazy with it, make me beg for it, make it the only thing I can think about.”

“You know I would. I’d make it so you couldn’t walk the next day,” Jisung groaned. “Would you like that?”

Minho smiled pleadingly. “ _Yes_. Fuck, I’d love that. I want you to fuck me so bad, Jisung, you have no fucking idea . . .”

Jisung tried to lean forward for a kiss, but he didn’t get far with Minho’s legs in the way. He chuckled weakly. “Damn, I can’t kiss you like this . . .”

Minho pursed his lips for a moment. Then, an idea struck him, and he kissed his palm before extending it up to Jisung’s level. Jisung smiled and kissed his hand, then let Minho hold his face, stroking his cheek with a thumb. With a final thrust of his hips, he felt the knot in his stomach start to come unraveled, and he choked out a moan.

“Fuck, _ah_ , Minho, I’m . . .” He panted, moving faster, gazing into Minho’s eyes. “Shit, I’m coming, Minho, I’m— I’m coming, _hah_ , fuck—”

“Go ahead then,” Minho said, “come for me, baby.”

With a final push forward, Jisung did, teeth clenched as he groaned, his cock twitching between Minho’s supple thighs while he came, white stripes painting his front. He immediately collapsed into a heap, all energy suddenly leaving him, and he closed his eyes, letting the bliss envelop him.

Minho shuffled in place, then put both hands on Jisung’s face, turning it upwards so he could kiss him sweetly. He whispered, “I’ll get a towel.”

Jisung watched him go with lidded eyes and a smile on his face. Minho returned with a wet cloth, and Jisung enjoyed the sight of him, his beautiful, naked form, painted with his cum. He didn’t get to enjoy it for long, though, as Minho wiped it off, followed by the lube still left on his thighs. Satisfied, he quickly cleaned Jisung’s softened cock, then returned the cloth to the bathroom.

Jisung was wrapped up in the covers by the time he rejoined him in bed. He welcomed Minho into his arms, snuggling into him and nuzzling his neck, soft, sleepy giggles escaping him. Before he fell asleep, he whispered one, final thing—three words that still needed to be said, while he had the chance.

“Happy birthday, baby.”


	15. Song For Someone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> Once again, I'm sorry for the long wait. I took a little hiatus over the holidays to enjoy the end of last year and the beginning of the new one. It was good to take a break, but now I'm hoping to get back to updating more frequently, so I hope y'all haven't forgotten about this story! Fair warning, however, I don't see the updates being quite as frequent as they used to be. The story is getting so deeply-entangled, so many things have happened and are going to happen, so writing each chapter now takes a lot more thought and therefore, a lot more time. Please be patient with me!
> 
> So, okay you guys, this is getting nuts. This little piece of writing has now amassed over 10,000 hits. TEN THOUSAND!!!! Excuse my French but WHAT THE FUCK?!?!?! I never thought it would get this big, I'm honestly so, so honoured and thankful for all your support. As always, thank you guys so much for giving my little story the time of day. Many of you have said you've found comfort and a safe space in this piece, and that makes me extremely happy. I'm always glad to be here for all of you. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter! It's a tad shorter than the last few, but I think many things are beginning to blossom here, and that makes me excited. What about you? Let me know what you think of this chapter in the comments!
> 
> Also, nobody cares but, it's kind of my birthday next week O.O I'm turning twenty! So that's cool, I guess.
> 
> As alwaaaayyys! Be sure to follow me on Twitter (@/mediochris) if you haven't already! I post sneak peeks, spoilers, updates for new chapters, bonus content, and I often run polls to decide certain things within the story (like the cabin destination, and the name of Minsung's bong!) Also, check out the "Molasses in the Sky" playlists on Spotify, YouTube, and Apple Music. Links to all three playlists can be found within my pinned thread on Twitter!
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "Song For Someone" by U2!
> 
> Happy reading~

_I was told that I would feel nothing_   
_the first time._

It was one of those mornings when Jisung woke up first, coaxed out of his slumber by the sound of rain pattering against the window, and as soon as he opened his eyes he could feel the sweat that coated every square inch of his skin, and quickly threw the covers off himself. It seemed the ancient heater had finally kicked in overnight, turning their room into a sauna. Jisung crawled out of bed, slowly so to not wake Minho, and padded across the room to turn the thermostat down. He returned to bed, leaning over Minho’s snoozing frame, and he placed a soft kiss on his cheek, then another, then another.

Minho stirred, making one of his cute sleepy noises into his pillow. Jisung smiled and whispered, “Mornin’, Sleeping Beauty.”

Minho blew a raspberry at him, pulling the covers up to his nose. Jisung giggled, shaking his head. Minho was cute again, but when was he not? He got out of bed and went to his duffel, choosing a new pair of boxers, which he’d barely gotten on before the door suddenly swung open, revealing a shirtless Chan with messy bedhead and grey sweatpants that hung so low on his hips the Calvin Klein logo on his underwear could be seen.

“Morning,” said Chan, rubbing his sleepy eyes. “We’re Uber Eats-ing some Denny’s. What do you want?”

Jisung, standing in the middle of the room in nothing but his bloomers, stared back at Chan. “You can get Uber Eats here?”

“Apparently.” Chan shrugged. “So what do you want?”

“Hum . . . I think I’ll get the crêpe breakfast. With the fruit n’ shit,” he decided. Then he walked back to the bed and started patting Minho’s cheek, asking, “Hey! What do you want from Denny’s?”

Minho rolled onto his back and rubbed his face with both hands, then plopped his arms down on top of the covers and did his squarish smile. “I want . . . a Grand Slamwich! Please.”

“Grand Slamwich, Channie,” Jisung tossed behind him. Chan gave a thumbs-up and left the room.

As soon as Chan was gone, Minho held his arms up and Jisung fell into them, snuggling him into the mattress, which from an outsider’s perspective looked more like they were wrestling. Minho giggled happily, kicking his feet and ruffling Jisung’s hair, while Jisung snaked his arms around Minho’s torso and lifted him up off the bed, fitting himself into Minho’s lap. They kissed, sweetly, a series of small pecks in between their laughter and stupid smiles, and something about Minho twirling his hair around his finger had warmth pooling in the pit of Jisung’s stomach and a fluttering like light wingbeats spiralling in his chest. Their lips met again, and this time, they stayed pressed together, their bodies rocking gently side-to-side while a soft sound coaxed its way from Jisung’s throat.

Minho pulled away first, gazing at Jisung through his long, pretty lashes, a small smile remaining on his face despite his clear effort to choke it down. Jisung was suddenly brought back to the banquet in Escondido, to the dance floor where Minho had looked at him like he was his entire world. Back then, he’d told himself it was just an act, but now he thought maybe, just maybe, there was some truth behind that look, and once again he felt a nearly heart-stopping squeeze deep inside his chest. He’d felt the same thing back then, and something had changed in him. Maybe something was changing in him now, too.

“What do you want to do today?” Minho asked softly, still twirling Jisung’s hair around his finger.

Jisung hummed, his gaze travelling from Minho’s eyes to his lips, and he inclined his chin to press his forehead to Minho’s. “Can I just kiss you a little longer?”

Minho’s eyelids fluttered and his smile got larger. “Okay, sure.”

Jisung wrapped his legs around Minho’s waist and let himself be cradled in his lap, leaning contentedly into his lips and kissing him slowly, tasting his air and swallowing his breaths, resigning himself to being completely and totally his. Normally, kissing Minho like this would get his sex drive going and his pants feeling tight, but this time he just enjoyed it for what it was, enjoyed the plush of his lips and the warmth of his arms around him, their mouths moving together and pulling him closer, bringing him further into it, and suddenly nothing else around them existed at all.

For a long time, it was just that—kissing, cradling, the rain against the window getting louder, turning into white noise that aided in their surroundings becoming nothing. In that moment, the outside was meaningless. There was only this warmth, this feeling in his chest and the numbness in his legs, this indescribable ache that crawled up his entire body and clouded his brain. Nothing mattered to Jisung but this, this kiss and the emotion it held, spreading through his veins and seeping into his very bones. He felt himself falling again, but rather than a rapid careening towards the ground, he felt light, floating like a feather or a strip of paper. It was effortless, but it hurt more than anything.

The moment was interrupted—after what could’ve been an eternity or only seconds—by a loud banging on the door. Hyunjin’s voice called from the other side, “Hey, lovebirds! Stop having sex, the food’s here!”

Minho broke away and ducked his head, laughing. He pat Jisung’s back. “Shall we go eat?”

“I guess so,” Jisung agreed, clambering out of Minho’s lap and standing at the edge of the bed. He held out a hand to help Minho up, who was naked as the day he was born and radiating that morning-after glow, flushed and lightweight and, as always, gorgeous. While he walked to his duffel to find clothes, Jisung gave Minho’s bare butt a pinch, which made him startle and let out a small squeak.

Jisung got dressed quickly, putting on a white turtleneck and a grey flannel jacket over top, then black jeans with rips in the knees. He ruffled up his bedhead and put his glasses on, too lazy to bother with contacts. Minho wore a navy-blue V-neck sweater, the collar striped with white and red, tucked into red plaid pants. He looked classic, the poster child for what every art student wished to be, so Jisung couldn’t resist pulling him in for a final kiss.

As soon as they left the room, they found Hyunjin sitting on Chan’s couch-bed, dark circles under his eyes and messy hair and a nasty scowl on his face. Jisung smiled sunnily at him, as he leaned over the back of the couch and said, “Why, good morning to you! How are you on this fine day?”

“I’d be a Hell of a lot better if I’d have gotten any sleep,” Hyunjin grumbled, his frown deepening.

“Well I, for one, slept beautifully,” Jisung teased, “like a _baby_.”

Minho went to sit down on the other side of the couch and added, “Me too. It feels like I slept for a hundred years, I’m so well-rested.”

Hyunjin let out a scathing fake-chuckle. “I swear to the Good Lord Above that I will strangle you both. Until you can’t breathe and you die.”

“No violence,” Chan said blandly, passing Minho his Grand Slamwich. He’d put on a shirt, but it was roughly three sizes too small on him, the sleeves tight around his biceps and the hem barely reaching his belly button. The graphic on the front of it read ‘ _청담고 체육_ ’ (‘ _Cheongdam High Phys. Ed._ ’).

Minho took his sandwich with a laugh. “Jesus, Chan, where’d you find that shirt? Your drawer full of eighth-grade relics?”

Chan snorted and sat down beside Hyunjin. “I packed it by accident. Can you believe this used to fit me? I was scrawny as shit back then.”

“Mm, but now you’re all big an’ muscley, _rawr_ ,” Hyunjin purred sarcastically, squeezing Chan’s bicep.

Jisung circled around the couch and rooted through the take-out bag to find his breakfast, then sat between Chan and Minho. He looked around himself. Seungmin and Jeongin were seated on the adjacent couch, tired eyes focused on their food while they quietly ate. Jisung asked, “Where are Felix and Changbin?”

“I don’t know. We tried waking them up earlier,” Hyunjin muttered. Then he smacked Chan’s arm. “Go get them, or else I’ll eat their Denny’s.”

Chan begrudgingly deposited his food on the coffee table and got up, stalking to Felix and Changbin’s door and banging on it with both fists. He hollered, “Wake up, sleepyheads! Cock-a-doodle-doo! Soup’s on!”

“Okay, okay, one sec!” Felix called back, distantly, his voice hoarse, likely from sleep. Chan stood by the door until it opened, Changbin lumbering out with Felix on his back, both of them wearing plaid pajama pants and white t-shirts. While they passed Chan, who looked at them like they were members of an alien race, Felix brushed his hand along his exposed navel, winking at him and making a purring sound.

Changbin brought Felix to the couch where Jeongin and Seungmin sat, setting him down very, _very_ carefully, before he grabbed both of their food and sat next to him. Chan returned to his own seat, and Jisung’s chewing slowed while he watched the two of them, his brow turned up curiously.

Hyunjin was also watching them, a sly smile plastered across his face. “You alright there, Lix?”

“Yeah. Why’s he carrying you around?” Jisung wondered. 

“ _Dick of death_ ,” Felix said, his expression blank and his eyes staring straight ahead. His voice was deeper than usual, so gravelly he almost sounded sick, as though he’d been chainsmoking all night, or he’d choked on something. He coughed dryly, and went on, “Can’t really feel my legs, but I’m all good. In fact, I feel great, I just need to rest up a bit.”

Hyunjin started snickering. “Jesus, Bin, go a little easier on the poor guy.”

Jisung’s brow turned up worriedly, and he glanced at Minho. He leaned in closer and whispered, “Are you hurting like that, too?”

Minho looked fondly at him, and murmured back, “No, of course not. You were gentle, and three fingers is nothing. I might be a little worse for wear when you give me somethin’ bigger than fingers, but we’ll worry about that when the time comes.”

Jisung nodded, relieved. Then, he quietly asked, “Still, that begs the question of _what the fuck_ is Changbin doing to Felix that he’s . . . like that?”

“I’d also like to know,” Minho muttered. “I mean, Lix is an experienced and seasoned bottom, he’d be used to the average day-later aches, and he’d also know how to prevent them, or at least lessen them. So, I’d guess they’re not using enough lube, or not doing enough preparation, but why they’d skip out on those things is beyond me. Maybe Felix _likes_ the pain?”

“Ah, yes, very good observation,” Jisung agreed, in a scholarly manner. “We should also consider the fact that Changbin falls second on the dick-ranking list, whereas I’m fifth, so I don’t think I could physically do the same amount of damage.”

Minho stifled a laugh, to which Jisung responded with a playful glare. He then felt someone kicking his ankle, and looked down the couch at Hyunjin, who had his eyebrows raised at them.

“Excuse me, you two, is there something you’d like to share with the class?” he asked sarcastically. “What’s with all the suspicious whispering?”

Minho put on a fake, closed-mouth smile. “Oh, sorry. We were just theorizing about Felix and Changbin’s sexual practices. Don’t mind us.”

“That . . . feels like a conversation I should’ve been involved in,” said Felix.

“Yeah. What ‘theories’ were you going on about, exactly?” added Changbin.

“Never mind that,” Hyunjin interjected. “If they think it’s so cute to discuss _other people’s_ privacy, perhaps they’d be inclined to tell us what they were up to all of last night?”

“No thank you,” Jisung rejected his proposal quickly.

Chan rubbed his face tiredly. “For fuck’s sake, you guys kept me awake with all your hollering. I had _two_ pillows over my head and I could _still_ hear it.”

“It sounded like you were murdering a cat in there.” Hyunjin grimaced. “I think the _least_ you can do is sate our curiosity, considering what you put us all through.”

Minho scooched to the edge of the couch and turned his body toward Hyunjin, clasping his hands together on his lap. “Okay, since you want to know so bad, fine. First, he ate me out like a pudding cup—”

Seungmin stood up abruptly and held both hands out to stop him, crying, “No! Nope, stop right there, I’m not listening to this.”

Hyunjin shivered. “I was just teasing. Even I’m not _that_ curious.”

“Have I mentioned that I’m traumatized?” Jeongin muttered.

Chan looked down at his food with a soured expression. “Well, I feel extremely single now. Let’s watch some TV.”

Nobody protested that idea, so Chan took the remote and switched the TV on, flipping through the channels until he found one playing some show Jisung had never heard of, and quickly decided he wasn’t interested in. They ate their breakfast in relative quiet, in between occasional, non-remarkable chatter. Once the take-out containers had all been emptied, Hyunjin and Jeongin returned to their room to get changed, and Changbin carried Felix back to their room to do the same.

“Shall we give Channie and Seungmin some privacy while they get dressed into acceptable outerwear?” Minho suggested, standing up.

Chan looked down at his much-too-small shirt, holding the hem out in front of himself. “What? This isn’t ‘acceptable outerwear’?”

“No, you look like a two-page Calvin Klein spread,” Minho told him, “or the October Boy from a naughty calendar.”

“And that’s a bad thing . . . how?” Chan asked, with a prideful smirk.

“‘Indecent exposure’ isn’t a cute thing to have on your permanent record!” Minho warned in a sing-song voice as he took Jisung by the wrist and led him to their room, shutting the door behind them. He sat down on the bed and kicked his feet, glancing around the room in that bored, waiting manner, his bottom lip jutting out.

Suddenly, a cell phone started ringing, and Jisung checked to find it wasn’t his. Minho looked at the screen to see the caller, a smile crossing his face, and he answered it. Jisung put his hands in his pockets and turned his back to Minho, pretending he wasn’t listening when in truth, he was.

“Hiya. Yeah, I had a great time! Oh, I just celebrated with my friends. Yeah. Yeah, it was really fun,” Minho was saying, replying to the quiet garbling coming from the other end. Then there came a pause, after which he mumbled, in a hollow voice, “Oh . . . He told you about that, did he? I see . . .”

Despite his charade, acting like he wasn’t eavesdropping, Jisung turned around to give Minho a concerned glance, and found Minho looking back at him. He went on, “Yeah, it’s . . . it’s true. Well, we’ve . . . Yeah, yeah it’s fairly new. Oh. Oh, uh, yeah, he’s here. Sure, yeah.”

Minho took the phone away from his ear for a moment to ask, “She wants to talk to you, that alright?”

“Uh . . . who?” Jisung waried.

“My mother,” Minho explained, giggling. “Don’t worry, she’s not a raging homophobe like my dad. She just heard about my, er, ‘ _boyfriend_ ’ and wants to meet you, I guess.”

Jisung felt some part of his brain buzz as he took in what Minho had said. There it was, the ‘B’ word. He realized just then what a complicated position their relationship was in—they’d faked it in front of Minho’s family, but soon after they’d really ended up sleeping together, but they’d never taken that fateful step of making it ‘official.’ So, had it gone from fake to real, or were they still, in a way, faking it? Was it fine to assume, without having any sort of conversation, that they were dating? Did Minho see them as partners, or just fuck buddies? More importantly, what did _Jisung_ see them as?

There were too many questions in his head, and this was neither the time nor the place to ponder any of them, so he just shrugged and said, “Oh. Okay, uh, sure.”

Minho pressed a button on his phone screen and said, “Okay, mom, you’re on speaker. Say hi, Jisung.”

“H-Hi, Miss— Uh, Mrs.— Um, Minho’s mom,” Jisung stammered, and then cringed at himself.

The sound of a middle-aged woman chuckling came from the phone. “Call me Doyeon, dear. I apologize for putting you on the spot like this, I just heard from Minho’s father that he’s dating someone, and well, you know how a mother is. So, your name is Jisung?”

“Y-Yes, Jisung, Han Jisung,” he said, still stumbling over his words. He’d never been in a relationship long enough to reach the ‘meet the old folks’ stage, and as such he wasn’t at all ready for this level of anxiety. Somehow, it was easier when they were faking it to get a reaction—now, he actually felt pressured to _impress_ , hoping to meet the standards of the woman who’d created the ethereal beauty known as Lee Minho.

“And I understand you’ve been living with my son for some time?” she went on, her voice level. As he couldn’t see her face, it was difficult to discern exactly what her approach was, or the meaning behind her questions, if there was any meaning at all beyond simple curiosity.

Jisung gulped, and responded, “Well, um, yes. We were connected through a mutual friend, and we didn’t start dating until a few months into living together.”

He looked to Minho for reassurance, hoping he was saying the right things. Minho smiled back at him and nodded as if to say, ‘You’re doing fine.’ There still remained a lot of apprehension in what he was saying, as all of it bridged very narrowly between truth and lie. It was true they were more than friends, but ‘dating’ was another thing, as this relationship of theirs was so fresh, and at this juncture he didn’t quite know what they were, nor what he wanted them to be. Every word he spoke felt weighted on his tongue, and every mention of ‘dating’ created a tension between them, filling the room until it became stifling. They hadn’t had that conversation, and yet he was having it with Minho’s mother. It was all backwards, and Jisung didn’t know if he should let it go on or just come clean, nor what the repercussions of either path may be.

“And you also go to school together?” She asked, thankfully, an easier question to answer.

“Yes, but I’m a first-year, so I’m two years behind him,” Jisung answered. “Also, we have different majors, so we don’t see each other much around campus. I’m taking broadcasting and music, and he’s— Well, I’m sure you know.”

She chuckled again. “Dance, yes. So you’re, what, nineteen?”

“I turned twenty a couple months ago,” Jisung corrected. He hadn’t thought about it much before, but their age difference was perhaps a little jarring. While two years wasn’t _that_ far apart in the grand scheme of things, it did play a big role when it came to college, setting Minho quite a ways ahead of him, almost like he was in a whole other world. It hadn’t been a problem for them thus far, but as the realization set in, it did make him worry—would it be a problem in their future? Though, maybe he was getting ahead of himself. It wasn’t even certain yet that they would _have_ a future at all.

“I see. Well, Jisung, you seem like a good guy, and I presume you make my son happy?” she inquired.

Minho smiled at him. “He does.”

“Good. I’m happy to hear that,” she finished. “I won’t take any more of your time. It was good to have a chance to speak with you, Jisung. If life allows it, maybe we’ll meet in person one day, but until then, I wish you both the best.”

“Thanks, mom. I’ll talk to you later, yeah?” Minho said, and she agreed, so they said their good-byes and hung up. 

While that had been an excruciatingly awkward conversation, it was nice to know that at least one of Minho’s family members was accepting of him and his relationships. That brought Jisung to another thought—if he was to continue this affair with Minho, whatever it qualified as, for much longer, he would have to tell his own family. ‘Coming out’ was never something he’d thought he’d have to do in life, and thus, he had no idea how to navigate that, and he’d never been attentive to how his family received queer people, so he didn’t know how they’d react. He decided that would be a problem for another day.

Minho put his phone down and looked at him. Jisung could tell there was something on his mind, and he could guess what it was. Should they have ‘the conversation’ now? Should he sit down, bring up the ‘B’ word, ask the fatal question? It was certainly a thing to consider, but in that moment, he couldn’t consider it, as he himself didn’t know how far he really wanted to go with Minho. A part of him still clung to the fantasy of his college days being unattached, no relationships or hangups, nothing to hold onto. At the same time, he couldn’t imagine letting Minho get away from him, the thought of that making him hurt in places he didn’t know he could hurt. The weight was heavy, and more than anything, it was scary, wondering where they should go from here. He wondered if, perhaps, he shouldn’t be thinking about it just yet.

In any case, the moment was lost when a knocking sounded at their door. Jisung quickly took the opportunity to divert his attention, letting all those weighted thoughts slink back into the caves of his subconscious, and went to answer the door. It was Hyunjin, wearing baggy jeans and a hoodie with some obscure picture on it, his hair tied up in a loose bun and tattered, faded skate shoes on his feet.

“We’re gonna hit the beach. You guys comin’?” he asked, flipping his vape around in his hand like it was a baton.

Jisung looked over his shoulder at Minho, who nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

Minho put his black peacoat on and grabbed his Polaroid camera and they left the cabin, piling into the back of Hyunjin’s car. This time, it was Seungmin who joined them in place of Jeongin, who’d presumably had enough of their typical not-safe-for-work conversations and escaped to the safety of Chan’s truck. However, by some ironic stroke of fate, no such conversation occurred during the short drive to Trinidad—in fact, they didn’t talk much at all, Hyunjin focused on the road while Jisung and Seungmin observed their surroundings outside their windows and Minho scrolled through his phone.

Hyunjin found parking somewhere close to Trinidad State Beach, and they all exited the car. It was still raining, but less so, the droplets reduced to little more than a light mist. The coastal winds were the real issue, buffeting against Jisung’s side and making the waves crash so loudly into the shore that they could be heard clearly even from their fair distance away. Minho clutched his peacoat tightly around himself to shelter from the chill, while Hyunjin rubbed his upper arms in a feeble attempt to generate warmth.

“Whose grand idea was it to come to the beach, on a day like this?” Jisung asked, buttoning up his flannel jacket.

“Chan’s,” answered Hyunjin. “I agree it’s not the best day for a beach excursion, but we’re headed back tomorrow, so it’s our last chance. I wanna see the pier.”

“It’s a _wharf_ , actually,” corrected Chan, who’d appeared at Hyunjin’s side.

“Is there a difference?” Hyunjin muttered.

Felix had somehow managed to walk on his own two feet, but he did so like a child who’d only just learned how to stay upright, waddling like a duck with his stiff legs far apart. He looked like a rider who’d just dismounted his horse after a long day in the saddle, and that thought had Jisung giggling quietly into his sleeve. Changbin followed after him cautiously, looking ready to catch him if he fell over, and that made Jisung giggle even more.

“Lix, are you gonna be okay? We’re gonna be doing a lot of walking, maybe you should’a sat this one out,” Hyunjin said, his teeth gritted with concern.

“Nah, nah, I’m fine, I got this,” Felix replied. He then attempted to do a squat to show he was really ‘fine,’ which just ended in him toppling backwards into Changbin’s waiting arms. 

“Hey, take it easy,” Changbin warned, maneuvering him upright.

Hyunjin was watching with his arms crossed, shaking his head slowly. “Binnie, you really gotta learn some restraint. You’ve crippled the poor man.”

“He _told_ me to go harder!” Changbin cried in his own defense.

“Yeah. I did say that,” Felix admitted, somewhat regretfully.

Chan also had his arms crossed, and he sighed, “Well, I guess we _won’t_ be doing the Trinidad Head Trail hike today. Let’s just go see the wharf, and then, I dunno, go back to the cabin and get drunk.”

“Mm, now you’re speakin’ my language!” Hyunjin agreed.

Felix swung an arm around Changbin’s shoulders to lean on him, and they began their walk toward the Trinidad Pier—or Trinidad _Wharf_ , as Chan had so intelligently pointed out. On their way, they came across a sturdy lighthouse, not as tall as one might expect a lighthouse to be, all white with a wide square bottom and a red top, like it was wearing a toque. There, they stopped to take pictures, Hyunjin bringing out his phone and using his long arm like a selfie stick, snapping a few photos of himself before inviting others to join in.

“Oh, yeah, those’ll look great on the ‘Gram,” he said, scrolling through the pictures he took.

“Jisung, go stand over there. Yeah, there, by the fence,” Minho instructed. There was a wooden fence just behind the lighthouse, with a backdrop of tousled ocean stretching as far as the eye could see, the grey sky along the horizon looking fuzzy, like television static, or like it was covered by a noise filter. Jisung stood in front of the fence like a mannequin on display, his limbs arranged in actor’s neutral, arms flat by his sides and feet hip-width apart. 

Minho held up his camera and looked through the lens, then dropped it and laughed. “No, like, pose or something.”

Jisung shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Pose? Pose how?”

“I don’t know, just be candid,” Minho suggested. Jisung put his hands in his pockets and, lacking any better ideas, gave a wide, toothy smile, his chin pointed up. Minho seemed to like that, and snapped a picture. 

After the first photo, Jisung settled into a rhythm, striking pose after pose, letting his body arrange itself however it wanted. He sat on the fence, first with his thighs spread open and then with his legs crossed; he squatted on the ground, throwing up prayer hands and peace signs; he made funny faces, sticking his tongue out, hooking his fingers at the corners of his mouth and pulling his cheeks out; he went the whole nine-yards. And Minho matched his enthusiasm, taking pictures from every angle like a magazine photographer, even going so far as to crouch and lie down on the ground, until he’d amassed a small handful of developing Polaroids of Jisung.

“These’ll be fun to look at later,” Minho said with a smile.

Jisung approached and took the camera from him. “Alright, it’s your turn. Go be candid.”

Minho obliged, going to stand by the fence with his hands in his coat pockets. Jisung took a few pictures of him, taking his sweet time to appreciate the sheer beauty of Minho’s every angle, as he really didn’t have a ‘bad’ one—his profile was gorgeous, he was gorgeous from head-on, from the side, even from behind, he was gorgeous everywhere. It was in this moment that Jisung started to wonder how he could’ve ever been so lucky.

“Are you two done? It’s cold, and we’ve got a pier to see,” Hyunjin barked at them, shivering like a wet dog with his hands tucked in his hoodie pocket.

“ _Wharf_ ,” Chan corrected, again.

Jisung scowled playfully at Hyunjin while he returned the camera to Minho. Chan led the way onward, Changbin and Felix hobbling after him, followed by the rest of them. They traveled some ways down a steep hillside to the beach, where a grand fisherman’s wharf stretched out toward the frothy sea, lit up with lamps that didn’t illuminate much in the daylight, but would make the wharf glow like a Jack-O’-Lantern by night. The rain had started to pick up once again, wetting the sand and darkening the wood of the wharf, and due to the weather there wasn’t a single other soul wandering the beach. It was just them, the clouds above, the waves on the shore, and the distant call of seabirds. 

“You know what? I take back what I said before. This is a _perfect_ day to visit the beach,” Jisung said. “No annoying children, nobody playing loud music, no one to knock your sandcastle over . . . Yeah, this is nice.”

Minho scowled up at the sky. “Except for this damn rain. And the cold. If I tried to build a sandcastle in this weather, my hands would freeze before I finished it.”

“Someone needs to make sandcastle-building gloves, if they haven’t already. Something water-resistant that’ll keep your hands warm but won’t obstruct the building process,” Jisung mumbled absentmindedly.

Minho poked him, his brow raised. “Write that down, we could make millions.”

“Mm. _Shark Tank_ , here we come,” Jisung mused sarcastically.

They walked onto the wharf, their footsteps making hollow thumping sounds over the wood planks as they traversed to the end, out in open water and unshielded by the rocks, where the wind was even stronger, threatening to knock them right off and into the ocean. Jisung shoved both hands in his pockets and leaned into Minho’s chest, trusting his wideset frame to protect him from being blown away. Hyunjin was still shivering, his teeth clacking together rapidly and letting out annoying shuddering noises, and when Chan noticed his sorry state, he stripped off his own coat and hung it over Hyunjin’s shoulders.

“H-Huh?” Hyunjin stammered. “Won’t you be cold?”

“I can handle it. You _clearly_ cannot,” Chan muttered.

Hyunjin, for once, did not bite back at that dig, just shrugged and pulled Chan’s jacket closer around himself. Felix was huddled close to Changbin like a penguin seeking warmth, and Seungmin was rubbing his hands together so quickly Jisung thought he might start a fire—in fact, he wished he would. Jeongin was really the only one out of all of them who’d bundled up properly, his Gore-Tex jacket zipped up, and he even had on a scarf, a hat, and mittens. The amount of forward-thinking he had to pack all that had Jisung looking at him with deepened respect.

“Well. We’ve seen it. Nice pie— I mean, _wharf_ ,” Hyunjin said. “Now let’s go. We can stop for take-out on the way back. And alcohol.”

And back they went, travelling to the cars on hurried feet. Despite it being a rather unsuccessful beach trip, Jisung was happy for the chance to look around, and even happier to be going back to where it was warm. They agreed that Chan would drive to a liquor store while Hyunjin would grab the take-out, which meant they were headed back to the wharf to order food from a restaurant called Seascape. Once that was done, it was back to the cabin, at which they arrived just shortly after Chan and the rest. 

“What’s on the drinks menu, Channie-Boy?” Hyunjin asked as they entered. Felix was lying down on the couch, his head resting in Changbin’s lap, while Jeongin was helping Chan set out the liquor bottles on the kitchen counter.

“Got some Grower’s, some Breezer, and some straight vodka. The weaker shit is for chasing or mixing, your choice,” Chan explained. “What’d you get?”

Hyunjin nodded and turned the vodka bottle around to read the label—Cîroc, citrus-flavoured. “Just some fish ‘n chips, again. Figured I couldn’t go wrong with that.”

They elected to save the alcohol for later—dusk, at the very earliest—as spending the last day of their trip getting drunk before noon would be beyond sad. In the meanwhile, they enjoyed their second round of fish ‘n chips while consuming more washed-up television in peaceful silence, followed by another game of _Uno_ that Hyunjin, yet again, dreadfully lost. By six o’clock, the rain had stopped, but the temperature had worsened, edging just below double-digits. Chan got the fire started beneath the mantle, using newspaper as kindling, then sat crouched before it with his hands outstretched to warm them.

“ _Shots, shots, shot-shot-shot-shots, shots, shots_!” Hyunjin started chanting while he carried the vodka to the couches, pouring it generously into the shot glasses laid out by Felix. Changbin followed with the Grower’s in one hand and the Breezer in the other, sitting back down next to Felix and unscrewing both caps. 

As Jisung picked up his shot, he asked, “Are we _just_ drinking this time, or is one of you about to suggest another horrendous game?”

Hyunjin looked up thoughtfully. “I mean, what can we play that we haven’t already? Besides, I know more about each of you than I’ll ever need to know.”

“You sure about that? ‘Cause it seems like you _never_ have enough information,” Jisung huffed. 

“Y’know, contrary to popular belief, I actually _do_ care about personal privacy. There’s a lot I’ve wanted to ask, but held back on,” Hyunjin muttered.

“I’d hate to imagine what _those_ could possibly be,” Jisung said, haunted.

As he brought the shot to his lips, Changbin put an arm out to stop him. “Hang on! Executive decisions, here. Do we want to drink and then smoke, or smoke and then drink?”

Jisung tapped his index finger against his glass, thinking, but before he could come up with an answer, Minho decided, “Drink first. We’ve already poured the shots, and besides, if I smoke first I won’t get properly drunk.”

“Alright then, bottoms up!” Chan said, and downed his shot easily.

“Hear, hear,” Hyunjin agreed, and took his.

Jisung shrugged and put his glass to his lips again, tipping it back and letting the citrusy gasoline slide down his throat, grimacing at the taste. Minho did the same, followed by Changbin, Felix, and Seungmin. Jeongin drank half of his shot but refused the rest, passing it to Hyunjin, who happily finished it.

Three shots and several gulps of Breezer later, Jisung could feel himself swaying in his seat, the room in front of him looking tilted slightly to one side. By this point, Hyunjin had reached the ‘giggly’ stage of his drunkenness, laughter bubbling from his chest almost constantly and caused by nothing whatsoever, and if Jisung knew him at all—which he, of course, did—that meant if Hyunjin drank any more, he’d reach the ‘crying’ stage, which was bad news for everyone involved. Minho had lost enough of his sobriety that he’d become sufficiently more clingy, currently glued to Jisung’s lap and rubbing his head against his chest. Felix was also rather giggly, made worse by Changbin playfully poking and tickling him, while Chan and Seungmin looked sleepy and Jeongin—the most sober of them all—just looked bored.

“Hey Chan,” Hyunjin began, still giggling quietly, “remind me, how long’ve you been single, again?”

Chan glanced up at him from his place on the rug, cross-legged and his head supported by his fist. “Why . . . do you ask?”

“I’on know. Jus’ wonderin’,” Hyunjin mumbled.

“Huh. S’probably been, like, a year or so now? Maybe longer,” Chan replied. “See, I haven’t dated in a loooong time, but I’ve, y’know, slept around.”

Hyunjin giggled even more. “Uh-huh? ‘Nd how long’s it been since that?”

“Couple months, maybe.” Chan shrugged.

“Man. Even longer than me,” Hyunjin whispered, almost sympathetically.

Chan rolled his eyes. “I told you, I’m not bothered by it. If I wanted a quick fuck, I could get one, easy. I just haven’t had the energy to go look for anyone. Maybe I’ve lost interest, or somethin’. Dunno.”

Hyunjin puffed out his cheeks. “I don’t understand how you’re so cool about it. It’s _killing_ me, dude. I’d fuck anyone at this point.”

“Careful who you say that around,” Jisung warned him jokingly. “And no you wouldn’t, you’ve always been picky.”

Hyunjin leaned back on the couch and pouted. “I guess that’s true. Not just _anyone_. But I’d certainly be more open to any prospects that come my way.”

“Are you about to come out to us?” Felix asked suspiciously.

Hyunjin laughed loudly at that. “Nah, I guess, I dunno, I’m just sayin’ . . .”

“What? What are you saying?” Felix pressed.

Hyunjin sat up. “I’m just _sayin’_ that, well, I’m not exactly seeking to sleep with any guys, but if a cute one wanted to sleep with me, well, I wouldn’t say _no_.”

Jisung clapped enthusiastically. “Ah, finally, progress! We’re getting somewhere.”

“That’s hardly ‘new’ information,” Hyunjin scoffed.

Minho pulled his face out of Jisung’s chest and smiled cheekily at Hyunjin. “A ‘cute’ guy, you say? What’s a ‘cute’ guy to you? What’s your type?”

“I don’t know!” Hyunjin hollered. “Like I said, I’m not exactly lookin’. When my Prince Charming comes along, I expect I’ll know him when I see him.”

“Maybe not,” Jisung said pointedly. Then, with a glance down at Minho, he added, “Sometimes he’s sitting right under your nose and you don’t even notice.”

Minho didn’t seem to catch what Jisung was alluding to, as his attention was elsewhere. He was looking over at Chan, a sly glint in his eye, and he asked, “Whadda ‘bout you? What’s your type in guys?”

Chan shook his head. “I don’t have one. I like who I like.”

“And who’s that?” Minho went on.

“Nobody in particular,” Chan insisted. “I keep repeating this, but I’m not after anyone or anything right now.”

“I know, I know, but like,” Minho slurred, wriggling in place, “give me an idea, like, say, out of us? If you had to fuck one of us, who would it be?”

Chan looked around the group. “Hmm. I don’t think there’s any one of you that I _wouldn’t_ fuck, honestly.”

Jisung choked on his own spit. “Huh? Really?”

“No, actually, wait. That’s not true,” Chan rescinded, shaking his head fervently. “I wouldn’t sleep with Jisung or Changbin, ‘cause you guys are like my brothers. Plus you’re taken. Same goes for Minho and Felix. Seungmin, well, he’s straight, and we practically grew up together, so probably not him, either. And Jeongin is like my son, so no.”

“So that leaves . . . Hyunjin,” Jisung said, with a pointed look at the man in question, who was sipping straight from the two-litre of Grower’s and seemed to be barely listening.

Chan stared at Hyunjin for several long, stretching moments, then gave a brusque nod of his head. “Yeah, a’ight. I’d fuck Hyunjin.”

All eyes moved to look at Hyunjin, who put the Grower’s down in his lap and glanced around himself, confused. “Hm? Wha’bout me?”

“Chan wants to fuck you,” Minho said, then giggled.

“Chan wants to _what_?” Hyunjin sputtered, nearly dropping the Grower’s.

“No, no, hold on a minute.” Chan held up a finger. “I said if I _had_ to fuck one of you, it’d be Hyunjin. I’m not, like, pursuing that venture.”

Minho giggled again, louder this time. Hyunjin wiped his mouth, which was hanging open, on his sleeve, then gulped. “You’d fuck _me_?”

“Sure. You’re hot,” Chan said simply, and far too nonchalantly.

“Oh.” Hyunjin looked bashfully down at the half-empty Grower’s bottle, his cheeks pinkish. 

“This is getting weird. I’m going to smoke,” announced Felix, standing up stiffly and waddling toward the back exit. Changbin followed after him, carrying the bag holding Straya, and Hyunjin wordlessly got up to go with them, too.

“I’m down. You comin’, Chan?” Jisung asked.

Chan declined, “Nah, I’m good for now. You go ahead. D’you want Avo?”

Minho, while slowly standing up, answered, “No, I brought our bong, so we’ll use that. Les’go!”

They joined Felix, Changbin, and Hyunjin outside carrying their barely-used bong, and sat down on the stone patio beneath the yellow overhead lamp. Minho had also grabbed some spare blankets on the way out, and passed them around to help everyone shield from the cold. Straya had already been filled and her bowl packed, Felix picking her up to take the first hit.

After ripping all the green in one go, Felix blew out a fat cloud of smoke, then asked in a strained voice, “Did you guys name yours yet? Or still deciding?”

“Still deciding,” Minho replied. He held up their bong, studying it under the yellow gloom, and went on, “But, now that I look at it in this lighting, it kind of looks like a Blowjob Shot, doesn’t it?”

Jisung squinted at it, pursing his lips. “Kind of, yeah. The ivory is like the Bailey’s and the whipped cream, and the black is like the Kahlua. I’ve only ever seen a Blowjob Shot like, once, though.”

Minho chuckled. “Right, that time at the party. You looked so shocked when I ordered them.”

Jisung smiled shyly, reminiscently. “That was the first time we kissed.”

Minho’s eyes widened. “Oh, yeah, it was. Wow. That feels like so long ago now, but it’s only been, what, a month?”

“Yeah. Somethin’ like that,” Jisung said, still smiling.

Minho looked at the bong again. “I got it. Her name shall be Blowjob, or BJ for short.”

Jisung looked up, shocked, wanting to say something, but nothing left his mouth, it just hung open like the gob of a goldfish. Minho wanted to name the bong, _their_ bong, the bong that was ‘ _ours_ ,’ after the drink they’d had on the night of their first kiss: _Blowjob_. It was a crude name, yet it held a sickeningly sweet meaning to them, and that juxtaposition was exactly their style. 

“It’s perfect,” Jisung whispered, “Blowjob. BJ. _Beej_.”

Felix was watching them with his brows turned up, making that expression people make when they see a tiny kitten. “Did we just witness a _moment_? I think we just witnessed a _moment_.”

“Yeah, it seems we did. Yuck,” Hyunjin complained, taking Straya out of his hands and refilling the bowl.

They smoked in silence after that, Hyunjin, Felix, and Changbin taking turns with Straya while Minho and Jisung shared BJ, until they were all well beyond faded and wobbled back inside. In their absence, Jeongin had fallen asleep on Seungmin, who was also sleeping, and Chan was boredly looking at his phone, still seated in the same spot on the rug. Hyunjin, whose eyes were so red and whose feet were so unsteady it was clear to see he was blasted out of his mind, stumbled up to Chan and all but collapsed into his lap, where it seemed he planned to stay.

Chan leaned back and put his phone down, looking bewildered at the pest who’d invaded his space. “Whatcha up to, Jin?”

“You’re a good cuddle buddy, Channie,” Hyunjin mewled, followed by raucous giggling. He snuggled into place, wrapping his arms around Chan’s midsection and nuzzling into his chest, then closed his eyes as though he planned to sleep in that exact position.

“It seems he’s forgotten about the awkward conversation we _just_ had,” Changbin muttered.

“Or he hasn’t,” Minho added, with a wink.

“In any case, we’ve lost him,” Jisung said, hands on his hips. “He gets like this when he blacks out. He’s your puppy now, Channie.”

Chan looked down at his ‘puppy’ with an expression that was almost warm, and he quietly said, “S’alright with me.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it is,” Minho whispered, snickering.

They enjoyed their high on the couches with idle chatter that would be long-forgotten by morning, until Changbin and Felix decided to head to bed, but not before Changbin carried Jeongin into his proper resting place. Soon after, Minho elected to do the same, but as Jisung went to follow him, he turned back for a moment to look at Chan, who still had a big baby snoozing on his chest. 

“You want some help with that?” Jisung offered, gesturing to Hyunjin.

Chan chuckled softly. “Nah, s’all good. Just, could you hand me my pillow and blanket?”

Jisung gave him a funny look. “You’re gonna sleep _there_? On the floor?”

Chan shrugged. “I guess. I’m drunk enough to, and this one’s not going anywhere.”

With a slow, dumbfounded shake of his head, Jisung grabbed Chan’s pillow and blanket off the couch and handed them to him, careful not to awaken the big baby. He bid him good-night and retreated to his room, where Minho had already tucked himself beneath the covers, but his eyes were still open, expectantly waiting. As soon as Jisung closed the door behind himself, Minho held his arms out, beckoning him.

Jisung gave a soft smile and stripped down to his boxers, then joined Minho in bed, quietly asking, “Big spoon or little spoon?”

Minho did his squarish smile. “Li’l spoon, please.”

They shuffled around until Minho could lie himself in the crook of Jisung’s arm, and he fell asleep nearly as soon as he’d settled in. Jisung looked down at his face, in the shadows of the room, which oddly seemed to illuminate his delicately beautiful features even more. Jisung smiled, kissed the top of his head, then laid his cheek upon the spot he’d kissed and shut his eyes.

Once again, he wondered how he could’ve ever been so lucky.


	16. Sex On Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> Sorry this chapter took a little while! It's been difficult finding motivation but I've been making an effort to write a little bit every day, and this chapter is finally here! Enjoy these 43 pages of juiciness, I hope that makes up for the wait :)
> 
> Several of you have been praising my smut, and while I'm very thankful and happy that you all enjoy it, I also feel very pressured to live up to expectation and up the ante each time. I hope this lives up to your standards! Please let me know what you think of this chapter - a lot of very intriguing developments are unfolding, I hope you're as excited as I am!
> 
> As always, be sure to follow my Twitter (@/mediochris) for a bunch of bonus content, including sneak peeks, spoilers, behind-the-scenes info, and interactive polls. I tag all posts related to this story, so be sure to check out the #MITS tag and turn my notifications on so you don't miss out! Also, if you haven't already, check out the "Molasses in the Sky" playlists on Spotify, YouTube, and Apple Music. Links to all playlists can be found in my pinned thread on Twitter.
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "Sex On Fire" by Kings of Leon!
> 
> Happy reading~

_If it’s not forever, if it’s just tonight,_   
_oh, we’re still the greatest._

It had been a long trip back to Sacramento, Jeongin taking the wheel in place of Hyunjin, who was far too hungover to drive, and they’d had to pull over on the side of the highway _twice_ to let Hyunjin empty his gut, the nausea caused by a mixture of car-ride vertigo and mild alcohol poisoning. Thus, it had felt longer than the drive back to Los Angeles, which had gone smoothly aside from Minho realizing ten minutes into the ride that he’d forgotten his new vape at the hotel and demanded they turn back. 

Despite the hiccups, they made it home in one piece and relatively on schedule, leaving farewells behind them and lugging their baggage up the stairs to the apartment, which was bathed in deep yellow from the mid-afternoon sun shining through the windows. When they walked in, they found Hayden sitting on the couch with one hand on the remote and the other petting Dori’s head, the grey cat sitting loaf-style beside him while Soonie snoozed on his lap. Doongie was in the kitchen, munching on dry food with a sour look on her face, almost like she was scowling.

“Hiya, Dennis,” Minho said, dropping his bag at his feet and kicking his shoes off—he left them in the middle of the foyer, like he always did, so Jisung quietly moved them aside. “All three cats are alive, I see. Good work.”

Hayden scoffed. “I really don’t know what else you expected. All they do is eat, sleep, and shit, what could possibly have happened?”

“You never know,” Minho hummed. “Anyway, thanks again, man. I know it was a lot to ask, and on short notice.”

Minho approached the couch and handed a small roll of bills to Hayden, which he gladly took and pocketed. He said, “Ah, it was no problem. I got nothin’ going on. How was your trip?”

“It was fun. Relaxing. I definitely needed a getaway,” Minho replied simply.

Hayden carefully scooped up the sleeping Soonie, who mewed in protest, and deposited her off to the side. He got up and leaned closer to Minho, muttering under his breath, “So, did you, y’know . . . do it?”

Minho softly chuckled. “No, not yet.”

Hayden rolled his eyes. “Jesus, what’re you waiting for, Christmas? I’ll take him, if you won’t.”

“I can hear you,” Jisung quipped.

“Reel it in, Dennis. We’ll get there when we get there,” Minho said, patting Hayden on the shoulder.

Hayden shrugged. “Alright, alright. Well you let me know when you do, mmkay? I want every detail.”

Minho nodded curtly. “Sure thing. I’ll see you around, yeah? When’s our next shift together?”

“Hmm, I think Friday night? Halloween Eve,” Hayden said, wriggling his eyebrows. 

“Oh, shit, I forgot. I still have to get my costume ready,” Minho noted, tapping his chin. “Peter, you _are_ gonna be Hugh Hefner, right?”

Jisung smirked. “If you’re my Bunny, then yes.”

Hayden shrieked with laughter. “You’re going as Hefner and a Bunny? That’s _hilarious_. Send me a picture, ‘kay?”

Minho agreed and showed Hayden to the door, saying his goodbyes as he left. Once the door had closed behind him, Minho rubbed the nape of his neck and sat heavily on the couch, spreading his legs wide and letting his head flop back. Jisung removed his jacket and went to sit beside him, gazing at him, at the long expanse of his throat and the crook of his jaw, the juxtaposed sharpness and delicacy in his features. He was pretty, from his fluttering lashes to his defined lips, from his chin down to his toes, he was so pretty, and Jisung found himself lost in it.

Minho suddenly looked back at him. “What?”

“You’re pretty,” Jisung blurted out, feeling his face flush.

Minho snorted, his ears turning reddish. “Shut up.”

“What are we doing today?” Jisung asked, changing the subject.

“Well, I don’t know about you,” Minho began, “but I have a short shift at the café today. I’m working ‘til seven.”

Jisung hummed, bobbing his head. “Ah. Okay. I’m not busy, so I guess I’ll stick around here. I could use a nap.”

“Of course you could.” Minho laughed. He got up from the couch and departed to his room, bringing his bag with him, and returned minutes later wearing slim black jeans and a white button-up. As he knelt down to put on his work shoes, Jisung approached him.

“Hold on, you’ve got a little . . . here.” He carefully tilted Minho’s chin to face him, and pinched a wayward strand of his hair between his fingers, fitting it back in place. He brushed the bangs on his forehead aside, and smoothed the hair behind his ears. When he was satisfied, he smiled.

Minho suddenly grabbed his hips and pulled them forward, tackling him to the floor and kissing him, slotting their bodies together and squishing his face with both hands. Jisung, although bewildered, happily kissed him back, holding onto the collar of his shirt and tugging it, pulling him closer. When they parted, they gazed at each other, and looking into Minho’s eyes that were so darkly pooled with warmth, Jisung felt his heart squeeze again. He wondered, for a moment, what that meant.

Then his eyes travelled upwards, and he scowled. “Aw, I just fixed your hair. It’s sticking up again.”

Minho sat up properly and let Jisung re-fix his hair, then pulled on his work shoes and gathered everything he’d need—phone, keys, vape, bus pass, AirPods and their new paw-shaped case. He stood up and made for the door, turning back once more for a chaste kiss, before he wordlessly left.

Jisung sighed to himself. Minho had only been gone for a mere few seconds, but the apartment already felt so empty without him. Maybe it was because he’d spent all weekend with Minho and the others, he wasn’t used to being alone. It was definitely a new feeling for him, as he’d always been a sort of ‘lone wolf’—few committed partners, few true friends, very well-acquainted with loneliness, so much so he never felt lonely. It was easy to be with himself, his own thoughts, he was never the type to be constantly feening for kinship, but something had changed. Perhaps a lot of things had changed in him, recently.

Nevertheless, he didn’t need anyone around to nap, so he gave Soonie and Dori a quick scratch before going to his room, where he stripped down to his underwear and crawled beneath the covers, snuggling into the pillow. 

But the bed felt lonely, too. It had been a while since he’d slept alone, without a warm embrace enveloping him, without the rise-and-fall of another’s breathing and the beating of another’s heart. It felt cold and empty like this, but his pillow still smelled faintly of Minho, so he nuzzled his face further into it and breathed it in, letting a smile cross his lips as he closed his eyes.

***

Jisung awoke to the sound of his phone vibrating on the nightstand, opening his eyes to darkness, the light having faded from outside, leaving only a deep blue sky. He groggily turned over, heaving himself into a seated position and picking up his phone to check it, finding several texts from Hyunjin.

10월 28일, 6:27 오후  
이리 오너라! (Come over!)  
심심해~~ (I’m bored~~)  
스시를 주문할게 (I’ll order sushi)  
지성아ㅏㅏㅏㅏ (Jisung-aaaah)  
제바ㅏㅏㄹ ㅜㅜ (Pleeeeaaase)  
한지성 (Han Jisung)  
대답하라 (Answer me)  
자? (Are you sleeping?)  
성이성이 (Sungie Sungie)  
대답해 (Answer)

Before he could pester any longer, Jisung quickly typed out a response.

10월 28일, 6:29 오후  
ㅇㅋㅇㅋ (O.K. O.K.)  
내가 갈께 (I’ll come)  
입 다물어 (Shut up)

He got out of bed and selected some decent clothes to wear—a black t-shirt tucked into belted, baggy blue jeans, a black hoodie over top, and a black ball cap. He put his glasses on, grabbed his things, and made for the door, embarking on the short walk to Hyunjin’s apartment, buzzing his suite once he arrived.

“Hello, Terrible Two,” Hyunjin said into the intercom.

“Just the Terrible One, actually. Minho’s working,” Jisung replied.

“Wow, you actually go places _without_ Minho?” Hyunjin gasped.

“Let me in,” Jisung muttered.

The door buzzed and he entered the warm lobby, taking the elevator up to Hyunjin’s suite. When he knocked, a voice from inside called “Door’s open!”, so he let himself in to find Chan sitting on the couch holding a steaming cup of ramen, and Hyunjin lying down, scrolling through his phone with his legs over Chan’s lap.

“Chan? When did you get here?” Jisung wondered.

“Oh, a while ago. He called me over almost as soon as we got back to LA,” Chan said. “He wanted me to watch some drama with him.”

Jisung waggled his brow. “Ah, a little Netflix ‘n Chill, huh?”

Chan gave him a pointed look. “In the most _literal_ sense of the term, yes.”

“Uh-huh. Shove over,” Jisung ordered, waving his hand at them. Chan shifted to the other end of the couch while Hyunjin reluctantly got up and scooched over alongside him. Jisung sat in the now-empty spot, and asked, “So, Chan’s been here all day?”

“Pretty much,” Hyunjin responded blandly, eyes still glued to his phone screen.

Jisung tilted his head. “Then . . . why did you text that you were ‘bored’?”

“ _Because_ ,” Hyunjin huffed, finally turning his phone off and looking at him, “we’ve watched, like, eight thousand episodes of this drama already. I need something to _do_.”

A playful smirk crossed Jisung’s face. “Well, you have a bed here, don’tcha?”

“Har har,” Hyunjin muttered.

Jisung felt a self-satisfied glow in his chest. He’d endured nearly two months of Hyunjin’s probing questions and bothersome jokes regarding him and Minho, and now finally, _finally_ , he had something to tease Hyunjin about. Revenge was certainly, as they say, sweet.

“I invited the others, too,” Hyunjin said, “Bin and Lix and Seungmin and Innie. Not Minho ‘cause I assumed he’d be with you, but you can text him if you want.”

Jisung chuckled, “We just spent almost a week together. You couldn’t wait even a _day_ to gather us all again?”

Hyunjin put his nose in the air. “Well! I’m _sorry_ that I love my friends so much I want to spend every waking minute with them.”

Jisung snorted to himself and took out his phone, quickly typing out a text to Minho.

10월 28일, 6:56 오후  
현진이 집으로 오세요 (Come to Hyunjin’s house)  
모두 오고 있어요 (Everyone is coming)

The doorbell buzzed, and Hyunjin got up to answer it, letting Felix and Changbin inside. They were both dressed comfortably, in sweat pants and loose-fitting shirts, Felix wearing a bucket hat and Changbin carrying his bag for him. They sat down on the carpet and Felix slapped down a box of _Uno_ cards, grinning and giving Hyunjin a challenging look.

“Up for another round, Jinnie-boy?” Felix requested, tapping his fingernails rhythmically on the card box.

“Hell, no. I won’t suffer any more humiliation,” Hyunjin refused, shaking his head side-to-side in a dramatic fashion, so his hair flip-flopped across his face. 

“C’mon, you might win this time!” Felix encouraged him, though Jisung noted the touch of sarcasm behind his tone.

Hyunjin put on a fake smile. “Yeah, and then I might be crowned Queen of England.”

Jisung felt his phone vibrate in his hand, and he unlocked it to check the reply from Minho.

10월 28일, 7:01 오후  
ㅇㅇ (Yes yes)  
지금 가는 중이야 (I’m on my way now)

He pocketed his phone and looked up to find Felix still taunting Hyunjin about _Uno_ , while Chan had all his attention focused on his cup ramen and Changbin had the remote in his hand, perusing the list of stand-up comedy specials on Netflix. Just then, the doorbell buzzed again, and Hyunjin gave Felix a final glare before he got up to let Seungmin and Jeongin inside. 

Hyunjin sat back down in his place and leaned over, resting his chin on Chan’s shoulder and giving him a begging, puppy-dog look. Chan glanced back at him and his chewing slowed as he raised an eyebrow.

“Channie,” Hyunjin started sweetly, batting his eyelashes.

“Yes?” Chan asked.

Hyunjin said nothing, just opened his mouth wide and fluttered his eyes again. Chan let out a big sigh and scooped up a bite of his ramen, feeding it to Hyunjin, who hummed happily and straightened back up.

Jisung smiled at them. “You’re sharing food, now?”

“It’s _my_ food,” Hyunjin insisted, through his mouthful. “He got it from _my_ cupboards, cooked it in _my_ microwave, and he’s eating it with _my_ chopsticks. Therefore, I believe I’m entitled to a bite of it.”

“Right. What about that sushi I was promised?” Jisung said, poking him in the knee.

Hyunjin’s head drooped and he let out a reluctant huff. “Fine, I’ll summon some SushiStop. Care to pitch?”

“I shouldn’t have to, considering sushi was the barter for me to come here in the first place,” Jisung muttered, “but I will because I’m nice.”

Hyunjin wiggled happily in his seat and pulled out his phone to place the order. As he did so, the bell rang again, and Chan was ordered to answer it, buzzing Minho inside and leaving the door open for him to enter the suite. 

“So, other than sitting around and getting fat off sushi rolls,” Seungmin started, “what exactly are we doing here?”

“Whatever you _want_ to do,” Hyunjin mumbled. “I just invited you guys ‘cause I was bored. The rest is up to you.”

“I’d suggest watching some stand-up, but I’ve seen all these already,” Changbin said, scowling at the TV.

“I brought Straya, if we run out of options,” Felix offered.

Minho strolled through the open door and shut it behind him, one hand undoing the top button of his shirt while the other held his vape to his lips as he took a hit from it. Without a word, he rounded the coffee table and dropped his full weight into Jisung’s lap, making him let out an airy groan as all the breath was pushed out of him. Minho laid against Jisung’s chest and let his head fall back onto his shoulder, exhaling a thin trail of vapour from between his parted lips.

Jisung wrapped his arms around Minho’s midsection. “Hey, there. How was work?”

“Boooriiing,” Minho droned, kicking his feet. “Barely anyone came in. I almost fell asleep at the till.”

“Oh, I did that once, at the first job I had after coming to LA,” Jisung said, his eyes widening at the memory. “Needless to say, that was embarrassing.”

Hyunjin chuckled. “I remember you telling me that story. I think that was the hardest I laughed all year.”

“How the Hell do you fall asleep while _working_?” Jeongin scoffed.

“Listen, I was tired, okay?” Jisung defended. “Like, _really_ tired. I’d pulled an all-nighter ‘cause, well, heh, I was with this girl . . . Anyway, it was a slow day, and I was sitting at the till, and, I dunno, I just fell asleep. Got scared shitless when my manager slapped me awake, took ten years off my life.”

Hyunjin doubled over, cackling. “Ah, it’s even funnier hearing it the second time!”

“Funny for _you_ , maybe. The boss fired my ass, _and_ the sex wasn’t even that good. Actually, it was awful. _So_ not worth it,” Jisung complained, shuddering.

While Hyunjin continued giggling, Felix asked, “Awful? Awful how?”

“‘Awful’ like, she wouldn’t let me get a word in. She moaned _so_ loud, and I could tell she was faking it,” Jisung recounted dryly, his nose crinkling of its own accord. “Also, she was riding me way too roughly, fuckin’ wrung my dick dry, and not in the good way. Everything was a turn-off, I actually had to fake my own orgasm.”

Minho was subtly vibrating against him, and when Jisung looked at his face, it was clear he was suppressing his laughter. Jisung chided, “What? Somethin’ funny?”

A soft chuckle escaped him, and he said, “Yeah, it’s funny. I can imagine it so vividly, and the longer I think about it the funnier it gets.”

Hyunjin wiped a tear from his eye. “Man, that is rich. You gave up sleep for a night like that, _and_ you lost your job because of it. What’s the opposite of ‘getting lucky’?”

“Well, since you think it’s so hilarious,” Jisung seethed, “what was _your_ worst sexual experience? Let’s laugh at you for a change.”

“‘For a change,’ he says, as if you cretins aren’t constantly laughing at me already,” Hyunjin muttered under his breath. “Well, it was—”

He was interrupted by the doorbell buzzing, and he quickly hopped out of his seat to answer it. It was their sushi order, so he left the apartment to retrieve it, returning minutes later and laying it all out on the coffee table.

“Mmm, let’s eat!” he announced, rubbing his hands together excitedly.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Jisung interjected, “don’t think we’re letting this go. Finish the story.”

“Darn it. Fine,” Hyunjin relented, shaking the hair out of his eyes. “I mean, it’s not that intriguing, since you’ve all heard this story already, but it was the time I had sex in a park. We were both drunk and stupid, it was cold and uncomfortable, and I had whiskey-dick so I didn’t even finish. The one respite is that we didn’t get caught, which would’ve been the absolute worst.”

Felix giggled into his palm, and Jisung whistled, “Shit, I almost forgot about that.”

“What I want to know is,” Seungmin piped up, “how do you even get in that situation? What were you doing in a park, alone, drunk, and in the middle of the night? How did you end up with that person, and how did you two end up fucking? On a _bench_?”

“Again, we were very drunk, so I don’t remember a lot of it,” Hyunjin went on, “but what I _think_ happened is this: We met at a party, and she wanted to fuck, so I was taking her back to my place, but we were so tipsy we collapsed on a bench on the way there, and then . . . well, you know the rest.”

Felix, still giggling, mumbled out, “I remember you telling me this the day after. I came over with Advil and weed, and once you got high you told the story. I almost fucking pissed myself laughing.”

Hyunjin laughed mockingly. “Yeah, ha-ha, it’s so funny. Hilarious. How ‘bout you, then? Your worst sexual experience, go.”

Changbin popped a sushi roll into his mouth as he glanced to his left, curious to know himself. Felix leaned back and groaned regretfully, “Ugh, it was . . . Well, this isn’t really a funny story. I, luckily, haven’t had any particularly awful experiences, so I’d say the worst for me was just the time I got crabs. The sex itself wasn’t bad, it was just meh, but I was itching like a motherfucker for a week and a half.”

Changbin’s eyes widened almost worrifully, so Felix added, “Relax, this happened, like, a year ago. I don’t have them anymore.”

“Hm. Well, that was boring,” Hyunjin grumbled. “Chan, you go. Make us laugh.”

Chan looked up from his take-out container, chewing his mouthful. He gulped, and said, “I’ve never had any bad experiences. My fucks are _always_ good.”

“Now that’s _definitely_ a lie,” Jisung derided. 

“Okay, it is,” Chan admitted. “I’ve had a few bad ones. I think the worst was this girl who wanted me to ‘rough her up,’ y’know, like, slap her and stuff. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, the best I could manage was a light tap. She got upset and left right in the middle of it. It was so awkward.”

Felix looked up at him, a warm smile on his face. “Aww, Channie, you’re so soft.”

Hyunjin laughed so forcefully that it came out more like a cough. “That _is_ awkward, though. ‘Cause, like, when someone leaves in the middle of fucking, they can’t just go, they have to get dressed and everything first. So you’re just sitting there for several minutes watching them put on clothes so they can ditch you. _Ouch_.”

Chan shrugged. “What was I supposed to do, though? When she put ‘I like it rough’ in her Tinder bio, I didn’t think she meant she wanted me to give her a black eye. We just weren’t compatible, I suppose.”

“Clearly.” Hyunjin snorted. “Anyway, who’s next? Binnie? Any stories?”

Changbin gave him a blank expression. “What, are we going around the circle telling bad sex stories?”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “Keep up, dude. What did you _think_ we were doing?”

“Okay, okay,” Changbin said. Then he looked up, thinking for a moment. “Hmm. I guess my worst experience was my first time, because I had sex with a girl. She didn’t do anything wrong, it’s just, I’m gay and I hadn’t fully realized it at the time. I tried so desperately to do it properly, but I couldn’t get it up, and I . . . I ended up crying. She seemed sympathetic, but God, it was embarrassing.”

Hyunjin visibly cringed, inhaling sharply. Felix’s eyebrows turned up and he rubbed Changbin’s back, murmuring, “Yikes. Poor you.”

“I wanted to laugh, but now I’m just sad.” Hyunjin shivered. “Seungmin, save us. Be funny.”

Seungmin hummed. “You guys know mine already, too. It was the time my mom walked in on us.”

Hyunjin whined, then turned his attention desperately elsewhere. “Minho? Please?”

“Mine’s not funny, either. I mean, I don’t really have a story to tell,” Minho said, shaking his head. “I’m like Felix, I haven’t had any notably ‘bad’ experiences. If I had to pick, I’d say fucking Jamie was the worst. Not that there was anything wrong with it, really, it was just boring.”

Chan’s brow tweaked with interest. “Oh yeah, Jamie. I remember you telling me how bored you were with him at the time.”

Minho exhaled a harsh breath through his nose. “Yeah. I should’ve dumped him a lot sooner. I guess I was just . . . stuck. For a long time I didn’t see any prospects for what my life could be, so I stayed where I was, even though I was unhappy. Until I reached a point where I’d had enough. Weirdly, though, I wasn’t any happier after I left him. If anything, I felt worse.”

It was quiet. Jisung felt a lump rise in his throat, and he didn’t know if it was sadness or anger. He tightened his arms around Minho’s waist, holding him closer, and he placed his chin on his shoulder, as though he could protect him with his embrace. Minho wasn’t ever the type to really open up, he rarely spoke about his feelings or what he’s gone through, and somehow that had made him appear strong, unaffected. But of course he wasn’t. He had scars like everyone else, and he was damaged in places that others couldn’t see, places he’d never show. Jisung hoped that, even if only slightly, he could be the Band-Aid over his wounds. That was certainly new for him—he’d never felt this specific kind of protectiveness for anyone before, this desire to fix and to heal, this willingness to give up everything he had and everything he was for the sake of another. Jisung went still as he wondered, again, what that meant.

“But . . . you feel better now, right?” Chan asked, in a worried tone.

Minho chuckled softly. “It’s been a long time. I’m over it.”

Jisung wasn’t sure he believed that, but before he could ponder it further, Hyunjin let out a long, loud sigh. “This was _supposed_ to be fun. I’m depressed, now.”

To alleviate the awkward tension, Changbin selected one of the many comedy specials he’d been perusing and let it play, setting the remote down and inviting Felix to sit on his lap. They watched together in comfortable silence, broken every so often by light ripples of laughter, enjoying the sushi and each other’s company. At some point, Minho slipped off Jisung’s lap and rested his head on his shoulder instead, while Chan replaced his handful of cup ramen with a handful of Hyunjin, who, halfway into the stand-up show, fell fast asleep on Chan’s chest.

***

It was rather late in the evening when they returned home, kicking off their shoes in the entryway before collapsing on the couch. Minho laid slumped across the cushions as though he was melting off of them, like an object in a Dalí painting, arms and legs sprawled out and chin tucked into his chest. Jisung threw off his hat and sat beside him, ball-shaped, legs drawn up to his torso and chin resting against his knees. It was quiet, the only sound being the crackly clawing of Dori filing her nails against the cat scratching post, and the gentle taps of Doongie’s collar tag hitting her bowl while she ate. That was until Minho made a soft grumbling noise, sliding off the cushions until his butt hit the carpet.

“Hm?” Jisung questioned, watching Minho pick himself up and turn to face him.

“Hungry,” Minho mumbled, cutely, patting his belly. Then, in a normal voice, he went on, “Do you want some ramen?”

Jisung smiled, uncurling himself and standing up with him. “Sure.”

“It’s not _good_ ramen, though,” Minho warned, “it’s just, like, Mr. Noodles.”

“That’s fine,” Jisung insisted.

Minho nodded and began making his way to the kitchen. Jisung took his glasses off and left them on the coffee table, then followed closely behind, watched him put a pot on the stove and take two packets of Mr. Noodles out of the cupboard, then turn the burner on and wait for the water to boil. There was something about standing next to a full pot that seemed to make it take twice as long to heat up, so the wait was long, the two of them staring into the water like cats staring into a fishbowl. 

“You don’t have to stand here,” said Minho, gently. “I’ll make it. You can go sit.”

Jisung shook his head. “No, I’ll stay with you.”

Minho accepted that silently. Jisung, once again, was met with the spiralling confusion of realizing something, though he couldn’t pinpoint exactly _what_ , was changing—or had changed—within him. Like a child to its mother, he felt glued to Minho, not wanting to be separate from him for even a moment, not even by a mere few feet. It was as though Minho was a planet with a gravitational pull stronger than that of the Earth, and Jisung was the moon forced to orbit him ceaselessly, but what was strangest of all was that Jisung wouldn’t have it any other way. He wondered, for what felt like the hundredth time, what that meant.

The water had begun to bubble, so Minho tore open the Mr. Noodles packets and dropped the blocks of hard noodles into the pot, poking at them with a fork. Jisung, lacking anything else to do, carefully wrapped his arms around Minho’s waist and clung to him, resting his chin on his shoulder, and Minho rested his free hand on top of Jisung’s. They stayed like that until the ramen was cooked, at which point Jisung had to let go so Minho could freely separate the soup into two bowls.

They returned to the couch to eat, and like always, quickly became surrounded by noisy cats who’d suddenly become a lot more affectionate. Jisung held his bowl above his head and tried to shoo Doongie away, while Minho attempted to politely explain to Soonie and Dori that the ramen was “Not for you, your food is in the kitchen.” The cats didn’t give up pestering until the bowls had been scraped clean, and Minho had to immediately deposit the dishes in the sink so they wouldn’t try to lick off the leftover ramen residue.

When he returned to the living room, he dropped himself onto Jisung’s lap, just as he had back at Hyunjin’s apartment, in that sudden and unannounced way that knocked all the breath from Jisung’s lungs. He was a heavy but welcome weight, akin to that which had been growing in Jisung’s heart, warm and cozy, yet undeniably _there_. That was Minho—a dynamite presence, and the very personification of the feelings he himself caused. 

It was quiet. Jisung wrapped his arms around Minho’s middle and rested his chin on his shoulder, again, a position he’d come to enjoy. He whispered, “Are you getting tired?”

“No, not really,” Minho murmured back, turning his eyes to the ceiling.

Jisung nodded as best he could, his chin lightly jutting into Minho’s shoulder. “Well? What do you wanna do, then?”

“Mm, I have a question,” Minho announced, leaning back and letting his head fall against the crook of Jisung’s neck. 

“Oh, yeah?” Jisung invited, lifting his chin and glancing softly down at him.

Minho raised his arms up and back, intertwining his fingers at the back of Jisung’s head. “Earlier, you talked about your _worst_ sexual experience. Well, I’m curious. What was your _best_?”

“You’re just fishing for a compliment,” Jisung said, smirking.

Minho chuckled once. “Maybe I am.”

“Well, I already told you that you gave me the best blowjob of my life,” Jisung stated, squeezing his arms tighter around Minho’s midsection.

“Right. Something other than that, then,” Minho persisted, as he began to squirm a little in Jisung’s grasp.

Jisung had to think about that. He glanced upwards, tapping his finger against the back of his own hand, searching his memory. He’d had a great many sexual experiences, after all, and most of them were quite enjoyable. However, he’d have to be stupid to say anything other than things he’d done with Minho. To him, now, all of the other times were dead, nothing more than distant memories, almost like fantasies—nonexistent. All that mattered to him now was the present, the gifts that Minho gave, and the gifts that Minho was. 

“It’s hard to pick just one, but . . . last time, at the cabin? _Wow_. I’d never been so horny in my life,” Jisung answered honestly. It was true, of course. Watching Minho come undone at his touch, listening to him whine and beg and all his dirty words, feeling him shake and quiver beneath his hands—it was the most all-rounded kind of arousal he’d ever experienced, the overstimulation of his every sense, the prickles and chills over every inch of his skin. Nothing before had hexed him like that, or even come close, and he truly believed nothing else could. 

Minho chuckled calmly, nodding. “Really? I see.”

“Really. I mean . . .” Jisung breathed, and stooped his head down to brush his lips against the shell of Minho’s ear. “It was the closest I’ve come to fucking you.”

He felt Minho’s body shiver, and heard a quivering breath leave his nose. He shifted in place, wriggling his butt against the hardness that accumulated below him; maybe by accident, or maybe not. He inhaled slowly, and murmured, “I wanted you to. I was desperate for it. If you hadn’t tired me out so much, I would’ve asked you to.”

“Oh, yeah?” Jisung mused, ghosting his lips across Minho’s skin, down to his neck where he placed a gentle, heated kiss. Minho’s back arched slightly, and he tilted his head to give Jisung more access, his breaths coming out heavier, more laboured.

Minho bit his lower lip as Jisung placed another lingering, hot kiss on his neck, and his voice came out strained when he said, “Christ, Jisung, you’re turning me on . . .”

Jisung chuckled quietly. “I know. I can tell.”

Minho pulled away, twisting himself around until he was straddling Jisung’s lap, facing him, their lips centimeters apart. “You can tell, can you?”

“Yeah,” Jisung affirmed, and he moved gradually closer, only millimeters, until he could feel the prickling electricity between them, the proximity of their mouths crackling. “I can feel it. I can feel you squirm. I can feel your heartbeat. And your ears get red when you’re horny.”

Minho, suddenly shy, brought both hands up to clutch his ears, stammering, “Th-They . . . They do?”

Jisung laughed fondly. “Yeah. It’s cute.”

Minho dropped his hands, placing them instead on Jisung’s chest, and he pouted. “Shut up. I’m trying to be sexy.”

“You are sexy. And cute. Both of those things,” Jisung reassured him. He ran his palms up Minho’s thighs until they reached his hips, then his waist, where he gently squeezed. He observed the pretty lines of Minho’s upper body, the crook of his jaw and the grooves of his exposed collarbones, the very subtle dip that ran between his pecs. There was nothing _not_ -sexy about him, sex appeal dripping from him like sweat from his pores, so innately-situated in his body that the very thought of him needing to ‘try’ was laughable. 

While Jisung was distracted, Minho snuck a hand up to his chin, tilting it up towards him, and he pressed a deep and feening kiss to his lips. Jisung matched him, his mild ferocity, drinking in his chicken-broth air, the plush of his lips so familiar at this point that they felt like memory foam, moulded specially to Jisung’s mouth. Kissing him brought forth an emotion that could scarcely be described, made him burn from within like nothing else could, like no other kiss ever had, and in that moment he decided he never wanted to kiss anyone else ever again. If it wouldn’t make him feel like this, it wasn’t worth it.

They parted, and Minho’s breaths heaved, hot and weighted, fanning across Jisung’s face. Jisung came forward, and Minho’s head tilted back, allowing him to begin kissing a line up the side of his throat, moving gradually over to the spot just below his ear, where he knew Minho liked it the most. All the while, Jisung’s hands travelled up his front, and he began slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt, opening more and more of his steaming skin to the air.

He undid as many buttons as he could, leading down to the hem of his pants, where the bottom of his shirt was tucked in. He ran flattened palms up his bare chest, gently pushing the shirt off his shoulders, then pulled away and just stared, awestruck, his jaw hanging open a little.

Minho giggled shyly. “What?”

Jisung closed his mouth and gulped. “You look so hot like this, I just . . . Wow.”

Minho ducked his head and looked off to the side, flushed. Jisung’s words were true, of course, and the longer he stared the truer they became. He was so, so, unbelievably beautiful like this, illuminated in the dim orange lamplight, chest bare and shirt half-off, the expanse of his smooth skin covered in reddish patches, his neck marked with Jisung’s kiss. Light reflected off the touch of saliva on his lips, and, letting his eyes travel down, Jisung took in his sharp jawline, the structure of his chest and his perky nipples, the line that went to his navel and lower, his carved stomach and slim waist, and his thick thighs that sat on either side of Jisung’s lap. Everything about Minho’s body was visibly stimulating, and although he wished he could stare all night long, his dick twitched at every new thing he looked at, making him impatient.

Jisung took hold of Minho’s waist and tugged him closer, inclining his head to place a kiss on one of his pecs, then the other. He felt Minho tangle his hands in his hair as he migrated sideways, until he clasped his lips around a nipple, giving it a gentle suck, then loved it with his tongue. Minho moaned, his voice pitched higher, shivering and squirming as Jisung circled his tongue around his nipple, teasing him, feeling his muscles tighten and his hands clench.

Jisung pulled away, smirking up at Minho. “Is it just me, or are you even more sensitive to this than before?”

Minho wriggled, looking away and biting his lip. “It’s ‘cause . . . It’s ‘cause you keep playing with them, that’s why . . .”

Jisung squinted, and his eyes darkened. He felt himself get harder—if that was even possible—and he swallowed thickly. He said, in a low voice, “The more I tease them, the more you like it?”

Minho, still biting his lower lip, nodded nervously. He wriggled again, shaking his shoulders, looking at him with wide eyes pooled with desperation, as though inviting him to continue. Jisung obliged, tugging him close again and resuming his ministrations on his chest, kissing and licking his nipples between placid sucks. Minho whined, his legs tightening on either side of Jisung, and a quiver ran through him from top to bottom. Then, suddenly, he pulled on Jisung’s hair, yanking him away, his breaths coming out riotously through his nose and his eyes dark with some kind of need.

Jisung glanced curiously up at him. “Hm? What is it?”

“Should we . . . take this to bed?” Minho suggested, wriggling again, from side-to-side.

Jisung quite liked that idea. He stood up, taking Minho with him, carrying him in his arms. “Your bed or mine?”

Minho thought about that, before answering, “Mine.”

With a slight nod, Jisung started making his way down the hall, all the way to the end, where Minho’s door stood ajar, the room inside dark. Jisung pushed his way inside and shut the door with his heel, then plopped Minho down on his bed. He turned on the bedside lamp, and in the same movement, removed his hoodie, letting it fall to the carpet at his feet. While he did that, Minho shimmied his arms out of his sleeves, then untucked his shirt, undoing the last couple buttons before tossing it aside. Jisung put his knee to the mattress and crawled toward him, Minho leaning back until Jisung loomed above him, and their lips met, hotly, messily, their tongues dancing a slow tango between them.

Jisung moved to kiss the corner of Minho’s mouth, then his jaw, then just beneath his chin, then his neck, then to his collar and then to his chest, giving his nipples a bout of attention before continuing to his ribs, then finally to his navel. He pressed his tongue to his skin with every kiss, leaving small wet circles in his wake, all around his belly button and on each defined ab. He began undoing Minho’s belt, then the front of his pants, before hooking his fingers under his waistband and looking up at him.

“May I?” he asked.

Minho nodded, lifting his hips so the jeans could be removed and tossed to the floor. Jisung cupped the prominent bulge in Minho’s underwear, rubbing it in slow, tantalizing circles as he kissed along the elastic band. Minho, impatient, began pulling the offending fabric off himself, pushing his briefs down to his thighs and letting Jisung do the rest, leaving him entirely naked.

Jisung took a moment to strip off his own shirt, then tucked himself back between Minho’s legs, leaving kisses at his hipbones and the ‘V’ of his pelvis, then at the tops of his thighs. Minho whined, spreading his legs slightly and bending his knees, his body begging. Jisung elected not to tease quite as much as he had last time—even though that had been an incredibly arousing experience—and jumped straight to it, licking a long stripe up the length of his shaft. He was more attuned to it than before, able to skip the ‘exploring’ phase and wrap his hand around the base of Minho’s cock, lifting it up and fitting his lips around the head, sucking hard and licking circles around it.

Minho made a noise of protest and pushed his head. “No, don’t, I . . . I’ll come . . .”

Jisung stopped, as told, and looked at him quizzically. “Isn’t that what you want, though?”

“Well, yes, but . . .” Minho murmured, worrying his lip. “Not yet, I . . . I want it to last longer.”

Jisung released his dick, and it fell back against his stomach with a _slap_. He sat up, and wondered, “Then, what do you want me to do?”

Wordlessly, Minho bent his knees more, then daintily spread his legs further apart. He brought his hand down to his rear, grabbing his own flesh and pulling it, exposing his hole. Jisung’s eyes widened and his cock twitched fervently, then he looked back up at Minho’s face, into his round, begging eyes.

“You want me to finger you again?” Jisung guessed.

“Yes,” Minho confirmed. Then his eyes wandered, and he bit his lip again. “Then . . . something else. Something _bigger_.”

Jisung tilted his head. “Three fingers?”

“Bigger than that,” Minho teased.

Jisung’s eyebrows knitted together. “What do you—?”

Minho sat up, bringing his face close. “Come on, you’re not that dull. I want your _cock_ , Jisung. I want you to fuck me.”

That idea had certainly crossed his mind, but he’d dismissed it initially. Maybe he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Maybe he thought it was too good to be true. Maybe he’d just needed to hear it. Still, watching Minho’s lips move, listening to those words come out, it didn’t feel true—it felt like a dream, or a hallucination.

Jisung sputtered, “W-Wait . . . for real? You mean it? _Now_?”

Minho nodded bashfully. “Yeah, I mean, if you . . . If you want to.”

“ _If_ I want to? Are you kidding?” Jisung growled. He yanked Minho’s hips forward, making him fall onto his back again, and he stooped down low enough to brush their lips together. “Of course I want to. I just . . . Are you sure?”

Minho giggled. “Yeah, I’m sure. Check the drawer, there. You’ll find some, uh, some stuff.”

Jisung lifted himself to his knees and shuffled over to the bedside table, opening the small drawer and looking inside. His eyebrows raised as he pulled out a fairly-sizeable—and almost halfway-empty—bottle of lube, and a roll of condoms. Holding the latter up, he asked, “How many d’you think we’ll need?”

“Eh, just grab ‘em all,” Minho said, with a cheeky shrug.

Jisung grinned and closed the drawer, dropping the supplies on the bed next to them and sliding back to his previous position. He began kissing his way down Minho’s body again, reaching his legs where he left light marks on his inner thighs, travelling down towards his pelvic region.

With a soft hum, he asked, “Want me to eat you out again?”

Minho shook his head. “No, I . . . I won’t last. Just get inside me, quickly.”

“Okay, okay, sheesh,” Jisung mused. Then, with a teasing lilt, he added, “Needy.”

Minho wiggled cheekily, picking up the lube and tossing it carefully at Jisung, who caught it. He uncapped it and poured a generous amount into his hands, warming it between his fingers. Minho hooked his hands under his knees and lifted them to his chest, his tongue pinched between his teeth in apprehension and eagerness. Jisung shifted closer to him, his free hand gripping Minho’s left thigh, and he gently placed his slicked middle finger to Minho’s hole, which twitched in response. He circled his finger around the rim, applying a small amount of pressure, rubbing it, making Minho shiver and choke down a moan. 

As Jisung pressed his finger to his entrance, he whispered, “Don’t hold it in. You can be as loud as you want, now.”

“Right,” Minho breathed out, shakily. Then he chuckled. “Hyunjin won’t be knocking on the walls this time.”

Jisung laughed along reminiscently. “Huh. _Knocking_ is an understatement.”

Minho took a deep breath, pushing it out heavily. He said, “Okay, I’m ready.”

Jisung nodded, then refocused his attention on his finger. He circled once more around Minho’s rim before pressing against his hole, gradually applying more pressure until it slipped past his entrance, delving inside him. He was tight, again, unimaginably so, and it was just as surprising the second time. Jisung felt sweat begin to prick at his forehead as he realized soon enough, it would be his cock going in there, Minho’s tight walls squeezing all around it and sucking him in. He had to inhale deeply to steel himself, lest he come in his pants at the very thought.

He pushed his finger in to the second joint, then very carefully curled it, loosening him up even if only slightly. He thought that by doing so he’d also hit the magic spot—his prostate—but judging by Minho’s minute reaction, it seemed he hadn’t. That vexed him, and he scrunched up his face a little. Where was it, again? At least searching for it did no harm, as he poked around at Minho’s inner walls, stretching him and pleasuring him at the same time. He looked up at Minho’s face to see if he could gauge how close he was by his reactions, but Minho was looking back at him with an amused expression, almost taunting.

“Looking for something?” Minho mumbled mockingly, lips turned up in a smirk. 

Jisung scowled, deflated. “Shush, I’ll find it. Gimme a second.”

He poked around some more, but Minho was silent, so it seemed he was still a ways off. He wondered how he’d found it so easily the first time. Maybe that was what they called ‘beginner’s luck.’

Minho gave a soft chuckle, and in a voice that could almost be described as pitying, he said, “Push your finger in a little farther, then press up, right in the middle. Yeah, right— Oh, _fuck_ —”

Jisung felt the tip of his finger nudge something a bit tougher than its surrounding area, and as soon as he pressed into it, Minho’s back arched and his words tapered off into a choked moan, the muscles in his thighs tensing and his legs squeezing together. 

“Told ya I’d find it,” Jisung murmured.

“With my help,” Minho jabbed, still smirking.

Jisung gave him a playful warning glance. “Should you really be taunting me right now? You’re at a disadvantage, here.”

To prove his point, he pressed savagely into his prostate once more, and Minho let out a wrought and sexy groan, his mouth falling open and his face twisting up in pleasure. His body shook as Jisung kept rubbing that spot, and he began moving his finger in and out, rotating it and spreading him, eyes darting from watching his face to the way his legs quivered to his digit disappearing inside him. It was certainly a sight to feast on, and Jisung didn’t want to miss a single moment, a single detail; he wanted to observe every, tiny thing, from the way Minho sucked in air through his teeth to the way his knees came together when the pleasure got too much for him to bear. 

“J-Jisung, don’t— _hah_ —quit playing around, I—” Minho begged, between moans and airy exhales, as he took two fistfuls of the sheets and pulled on them. “I’m . . . _Ng_ , I’m gonna come, if you keep— _shit, God_ . . . Please, hurry up, _please_ —”

As much as he loved watching Minho come apart, Jisung was impatient himself, so he carefully inserted a second finger, twisting his hand one way on the push in, and another on the slide back out. He spread the digits as wide as they would go, scissoring him open, and curled them every so often to brush against that sweet spot. Minho was writhing, now, his eyes squeezed shut and his head thrown back, the expanse of his neck exposed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with each thick swallow and choked moans leaving his throat. His insides tightened with every movement of Jisung’s hand, as the rest of his muscles did, making it exponentially more difficult to loosen him, almost rendering it a lost cause; but Jisung wouldn’t give up, no matter how much his arm cramped, no matter how sweaty he got, no matter how desperately he wanted to rip his fingers out and put his cock there instead, connect their bodies and fuck him senseless.

He lined up a third finger and slowly pushed it inside him, Minho wincing at the burning ache that caused, and once all three digits were firmly situated, Jisung paused, let them sit there, let Minho’s body adjust to the stretch. Unlike most of the endeavors he and Minho got into, anal play was not at all foreign to Jisung—except for the existence of the prostate, which, obviously, wasn’t present in any of his previous partners. For once, he actually knew what he was doing—he knew to take it slow, lest Minho end up like poor Felix back at the cabin, which would not be ideal considering how often Minho worked. Once it seemed, judging by Minho’s expression, that the ache had subsided, Jisung continued moving his fingers carefully in and out, spreading them as far as they would go, then brushing against his sweet spot to replace pain with pleasure.

Minho groaned inwardly—loud, wrought, sexy, his teeth clenched and his fists balled tight around the sheets, every muscle in his legs tensed. His body vibrated, and he gyrated his hips to push Jisung’s fingers even deeper inside him, like he couldn’t get enough. Jisung treated him, pushing his fingers in all the way to the knuckles of his hand, and Minho arched his back and let out a sharp, sudden cry, sucking in air like he was drowning.

“Jisung, _please_ , that’s enough, I can’t—” His words were cut off by another moan as Jisung rubbed his prostate again, and he pulled at the sheets so hard it was a miracle they didn’t tear. Then he lifted his head, gazing at Jisung with eyes so clouded with lust it was as if he was blinded by it, his brows curled in on themselves and his bottom lip trembling, and he begged, “ _Please_ , I can’t take it anymore, Jisungie, I _need_ your cock, please, fuck me, _please_ . . .”

Jisung panted, a shuddering breath leaving his chest as tremors traveled up his spine. His dick was _aching_ , confined beneath his belted jeans and pleading for release. He wanted to be inside Minho more than he’d wanted to be inside anyone else, the mere thought of it intoxicating, dizzying, the idea that something he’d fantasized about for what felt like forever was finally coming true. Gingerly, he pulled his fingers out, making Minho whine pathetically at the loss, and he undid his belt and the front of his pants, removing them and his boxers in one swift movement, tossing them away. His cock stood out in front of him, angrily red and leaking from the tip, so hard it pulsated with his heartbeat, and the sudden relief of freedom almost made him pass out.

Breathlessly, he picked up the condoms and lube and asked, “Would you care to . . . do the honours?”

Minho grinned and sat up, tearing one square from the string of condoms and unwrapping it. He took hold of Jisung’s shaft and held it upright, placing the rubber on top and slowly rolling it down the entire length, and Jisung had to bite his lip to suppress a desperate groan. Once Jisung was successfully wrapped, Minho took the lube and poured a generous amount over the tip, holding the bottle up a good several centimeters above Jisung’s dick, as though he was drizzling icing on a cupcake. He used his other hand to spread the lube over every inch, until Jisung was slick with it, and then he laid down and used what was left over to re-slick his hole, all the while staring some kind of raw, sexual emotion into Jisung’s eyes. 

Jisung gulped thickly, watching Minho’s fingers circling his own hole, and he felt that nauseating arousal spiral in his stomach as it set in that, in just a few moments, he would be putting his cock in there. _His_ cock. _Inside_ Minho. It felt like a fever dream, too good to be true, it couldn’t be happening—but it _was_ happening, and Jisung felt a reverberating shiver beneath his skin as he shuffled forward, gravitating towards Minho like an opposing magnet, like a moth to a flame. He’d done this so many times before, but somehow this time felt like the first time, like he was a virgin all over again. His hand was shaking as he used it to crassly guide his dick to Minho’s entrance, his breathing coming out ragged, but as soon as his tip kissed Minho’s hole, a hand came up to stop him.

“W-Wait . . . you’re doing it like _this_?” he asked, a pitch of shock in his voice.

Jisung looked at his face, puzzled. “Yeah? How else would I do it?”

Minho’s cheeks flushed, and he glanced away. “I don’t know, I just . . . I expected you to, like, flip me over . . .”

“Do you want me to? I will, if you’d prefer—”

“No! No, I . . .” Minho interrupted Jisung quickly. He shyly bit his lip and, still looking away, he went on, “I . . . like this.”

Jisung smiled, and leaned in to place a soft kiss on his lips. Minho wrapped his arms around his neck and pulled him in for more, and they kissed sweetly, their tongues gently tangling, and Jisung brought up a hand to cup Minho’s cheek, caressing his skin. With his other hand, he continued guiding his cock forward, pushing against Minho’s entrance until the tip was suddenly engulfed in his tight heat. At that moment, Minho broke from the kiss, his breaths shuddering into Jisung’s mouth, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Jisung gripped him by the waist and slowly pressed his hips forward, Minho’s body sucking him in inch by inch, until he was half-seated inside him, and Jisung had to duck his head as the sensation set every one of his nerves on fire.

Jisung whispered a curse under his breath as he nearly came right then, the feeling so overwhelming and indescribable, something he would almost call ‘life-changing.’ Minho’s hole fluttered around him, clenching and unclenching, so dizzyingly tight, so slick, and so _hot_ , rendering Jisung unable to move, speak, or even breathe. He held onto Minho’s thighs for dear life, his nails digging into the supple flesh, sweat dripping from his brow. Minho was a quivering mess beneath him, and a tiny, nearly-inaudible whine escaped him, making Jisung raise his head to face him.

“Is . . . Is it all in?” Minho wondered quickly, half-sitting up and looking at the spot their bodies connected, as if he could see.

Jisung gulped. “N-No, only half.”

“Fuck, it already feels like so much . . .” Minho moaned, smiling weakly. “Well? Go on. Give it to me. I want it _all_.”

Jisung exhaled unevenly. “Okay, just . . . give me a second.”

“What? Something wrong?” Minho worried.

“No, no,” Jisung assured. He then felt himself blush, embarrassed. “I’m just . . . It feels so _fucking good_ , I’m really trying not to come.”

Minho smirked at him. “You haven’t even moved, yet.”

“I _know_ , God . . .” Jisung whined. He was only halfway in, and really, nothing had even happened yet, but he already felt so close, that knot in the pit of his stomach coiled taut, and the absolute _last_ thing he would want is to ruin his first time with Minho by coming prematurely. Considering his history, nothing could be more humiliating. He was so well-practiced in this field, he wanted to rock Minho’s world, give him the best and most unforgettable lay of his life, but with the way this was going, that seemed impossible.

Minho shrugged. “Well, I’m flattered, at least. My ass is so good it’s turned you into a virgin. I’m not mad at that.”

Jisung snorted. “Don’t underestimate me, I can hold it. Just give me a second.”

“How many ‘seconds’ do you need, exactly?” Minho jeered.

“You’re so impatient, jeez . . .” Jisung complained. Indeed, there was no need to despair. This wasn’t his first day at the rodeo. He was well-versed in the art of containing his own pleasure, holding the floodgates closed, at least until his partner had gotten their fair share of the fun. He was proud to say that he’d not come before his partner in many months, and he had confidence this would be no different. 

He shook himself out of it and grasped Minho by the waist again, setting his hips and pushing forward, until his pelvis was flush against the backs of Minho’s thighs, and he’d fit every inch inside him. Minho’s spine arched shallowly, and he quivered, his toes curling and his head turning to the side. Jisung bit his lip to suppress a groan, digging his nails into Minho’s skin as a way to ground himself, and reign himself in. He was already so close to losing control, wanting so badly to slam into Minho, wreck him and turn him into a moaning pile of jelly, but even more than that, he didn’t want to hurt him, so he forced himself to pull back slowly, only a short ways, and push in again, starting off on a gentle rhythm. He was so lost in the stimulation that he had no sense of himself, no conception of what his face looked like, no idea what kind of sounds he was making, and as his eyes were closed, he also didn’t know what Minho looked like, or what kind of face he was making.

Until a sweet, high-pitched, and incredibly sexy moan graced his ears, and he opened his eyes to look down, at Minho, at his face that was red from ear-to-ear, at his brown gaze that was full of ecstasy, at his puffy bottom lip that was trapped beneath his teeth. He, too, was lost, already so far-gone, so deeply entrenched in his own pleasure that nothing else mattered to him, and once Jisung saw it he couldn’t bring himself to look away. He pushed in again, trying to angle himself upward, trying to hit that spot, which, he found, was significantly harder to do with his cock than with his fingers. Still, Minho moaned again, his eyebrows turning inward and his body quaking, his thighs desperately squeezing Jisung’s hips, pulling him in further.

“Jisuuung,” Minho whined, “ _please_ , it feels so fucking good, _fuck_ , please, fuck me harder, please, _fuck_ , I want it so bad, I wanna come so bad, please, harder, _unh_ —!”

Jisung pulled out almost all the way, then snapped his hips forward, driving his whole length back in at once, and Minho’s body jolted as their skin slapped together. He repeated the action, again and again, all the way out and all the way back in, quickening his pace gradually, until he fell forward, his hands on either side of Minho’s frame, and he was thrusting into him recklessly, and his mind began to go fuzzy, filling with white noise. Minho cried out, gripping the sheets once more and pulling, his chest shaking with sobs of pleasure, tears dripping down his cheeks as he tossed his head left and right, unable to contain himself. Jisung’s movements weren’t robotic; his hips moved fluidly, rolling back and forth, and the slide in and out of Minho was electrifying, making his arms quake and his lower half feel like it was melting.

He’d lost all focus, sucked into the fray, his head hanging and his hair falling in front of his eyes. His body was moving on its own, now, his brain checked out, leaving him to rely on primal instinct and muscle memory. He leaned down and started placing kisses up and down Minho’s neck, pausing by his ear to grunt, “God, you feel so fucking good, you’re so fucking tight, baby, _fuck_ . . .”

Minho pressed his face into Jisung’s shoulder, whining into his skin, and he dug his nails into Jisung’s back, dragging them down his spine, a thoughtless action that would’ve been painful in any other context, but here it only made Jisung hornier, made him groan lowly into Minho’s ear. 

“Jisungie, _ahn_ , fuck, oh my _God_ , Jisung!” Minho screamed, muffled only slightly by his mouth being buried in the crook of Jisung’s neck. “Your cock feels so fucking good, _hng_ , I love it, Jisung, _fuck_ , please don’t stop, please fuck me harder, _please_ —”

Jisung let out a quiet growl from somewhere deep in his chest, and he straightened up, flipping his sweat-drenched hair off his forehead. He took a strong hold on Minho’s hips and fucked him harder, faster, slamming into him with such force that the whole bed shook, springs creaking beneath them and posts knocking against the wall, creating a cacophony of sound that Jisung couldn’t even hear. He was deaf to everything except Minho’s voice, the vulgarity that left his lips in the form of moans, whines, cries, garbled words and incoherent pleas. Minho wasn’t quiet for even a moment, every intake of breath harsh and every exhale wanton, one fist still clutching the sheets while his other arm was up behind him, gripping the headboard. 

“Fuck, you’re so sexy, baby,” Jisung groaned, then threw his head back, staring at the ceiling, absorbed in everything he felt in his lower half. He moved like a machine, not even noticing the ache in his muscles and joints, entirely past the point of restraint. He couldn’t stop, not for anything, not even if the room collapsed around them. He glanced back down, at Minho’s beautiful, fucked-out face, cheeks streaked with tears and eyes listless, lips bloody from being bitten, and he angled his hips and _pushed_ , and Minho’s body jerked as he let out a choked mewl, his hand quickly coming up to cover his own mouth.

Jisung grinned. “There?”

Minho nodded, hand still over his mouth, clutching his own face, which did very little to mute his loud cries as Jisung thrusted into that spot each time, making Minho tighten impossibly around his shaft. It was euphoric, pure and utter Heaven, like nothing he’d ever felt in his life— _nothing_ could possibly compare to this, Minho’s twitching, soft, sloppy heat, the sounds he made and the way his body shook with pleasure, it was everything he’d needed and more.

Minho took his hand away from his mouth, panting feverishly, and he begged, “Jisung, please . . . touch my chest, please, _uhhn_ , I’m so close, plea—”

He didn’t need to say any more. Jisung bent down to suckle one of his nipples, playing with the other by rolling it between his thumb and forefinger, and Minho screamed again, pushing his chest up and trembling, his hole tightening _even more_. Jisung teased him, thrusting into his sweet spot, licking circles around his nipple, flicking and pressing the other, until it was too much, and Minho started scratching at his back again as his voice got even higher.

“Fuck, _fuck_! Jisungie, fuck, I’m gonna come, Jisung, _fuckfuckfuck_!” Minho cried, his words cracking as he fought for air. “Jisung, I’m gonna come, Jisung, you’re gonna make me come, I— I’m gonna— I’m coming, I—”

He went rigid, keening and panting, writhing about on the sheets as his every muscle went taut, and he came, more than Jisung had ever seen him come before, painting his whole front with white stripes. His breaths heaved, and he continued to moan, continued to grind his hips, shaking more than the bed itself.

“Oh God, oh my _God_ , Jisung, oh _my God_ ,” he chanted, “it feels so good, it feels _so good_ , so fucking good, _please_ don’t stop— _haah_ —it feels amazing, don’t stop, Jisung, please don’t stop—”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He didn’t even need to be told once. He was still thoughtless, carried away by the mind-numbing pleasure, by Minho’s crying and begging, his noises ricocheting as his body moved with Jisung’s thrusts, half-limp, all energy sucked from him. It wouldn’t be long, anyway, Jisung losing the ability to hold back his release, feeling it crawling up the length of his cock, creating a heavenly kind of sting as it reached the tip. He wasn’t far behind, his hips quickly beginning to falter, shuddering groans leaving his lips as he pressed his forehead to Minho’s shoulder.

“Fuck, baby, I’m coming, I’m—” His words cut off as his movements stilled, and the knot in his stomach finally unraveled. He moaned gruffly, from deep in his chest, as he came, body jerking with release, before he slumped down on top of Minho, spent.

“Holy Mother of Jesus,” Minho whispered, pushing Jisung’s weight off him. Jisung slipped out and rolled onto his back, panting, and he placed the back of his hand against his forehead to wipe off the sweat. Minho sat up and stripped the case off one of his pillows, using it to clean the mess off his chest, then tossing it in the direction of the laundry basket.

“Yeah. That,” Jisung agreed, fanning himself off. “Fuck, it’s hot in here.”

Minho purred as he rolled onto his side, tucking himself into Jisung. “Nah, it’s just you.”

Jisung chuckled stupidly, still slightly out of his mind. “That sure was something, huh? Holy shit.”

Minho nuzzled into Jisung’s chest, sighing contentedly. “Yeah, it was. _Something_. Fuck, you’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted this . . .”

“Yeah? How long?” Jisung hummed, wrapping his arm around him.

Minho shrugged. “When did you move in, again?”

Jisung paused, his senses coming back to him, and he took in Minho’s words. He glanced at him, eyes squinted with shock. “What? Really? That long?”

“Yeah. _That_ long,” Minho mumbled. His words and his posture were shy, and he wouldn’t meet Jisung’s gaze. “I’ve . . . kinda wanted you to fuck me since we met. I guess I’m good at hiding it.”

Jisung’s jaw fell open a little, and he blinked several times, disbelieving. That couldn’t be true, could it? He must be exaggerating, right? Jisung tried to think back, tried to think of a single instance before just a month ago that Minho had appeared to be attracted to him in any way, shape, or form, but nothing came up. In fact, he had very little memories of Minho at all. Back then, he’d been so cold, spending more time out of the apartment than in it and quiet during the time he _was_ there, and what little conversation they’d had was unfamiliar and superficial. They’d shared nothing but the roof and the rent, nothing between them but the forced camaraderie of being roommates. Jisung never would have imagined that Minho was hiding a secret like that.

“You’re lying,” he insisted, shaking his head.

“I wish I was,” Minho sighed, “but no, it’s true. I guess that’s why I never talked to you, I was too worried I’d say something stupid, or you’d find out . . . And you didn’t really talk to me, either, so It was a secret well-kept. For a while, at least.”

Jisung held him closer, suddenly feeling guilty. He remembered how his friends used to scold him for not making a better effort to get close to Minho, and he wished he’d listened to them. Now that he thought about it, though, he didn’t know _why_ he never listened to them, _why_ he’d been so reluctant to befriend Minho. Maybe there had been something holding him back. He recalled how, ever since they’d met, he’d felt weirdly uncomfortable in Minho’s presence, but he’d never known why. In this moment, however, holding Minho in his arms, he felt his heart beating harshly, and he wondered if, maybe, _that_ had been the source of his discomfort all along.

Softly, he murmured, “I’m sorry I took so long.”

Minho chuckled quietly. “Don’t worry about that. It wasn’t so bad. I grew accustomed to keeping my distance. Except, I will say, the amount you slept around was torturing me.”

“Was it?” Jisung asked earnestly. Minho wasn’t usually so open to sharing, and he wanted to make the most of it, milk as much of this intriguing information from him as he could. “Did I really sleep around _that_ much?”

Minho scoffed. “Of course. I was irritable every time you didn’t come home at night. But even that wasn’t as bad as all the times you brought women _here_.”

Again, Jisung felt extremely guilty. If he’d known about Minho’s affections, he’d never have brought home any ‘guests,’ but he hadn’t known, and he resented himself for how cruel he was. “I’m sorry. I didn’t bring them home too often, though, did I?”

“You did. At least once a week, usually more,” Minho said. Thankfully, his tone was soft, and he didn’t seem to be upset. “You must’ve thought I was out, or asleep. Or you just didn’t care. I’d be here, in my room, and I’d hear you come through the door with some giggling girl, and you two would go in your room, and . . . God, I could hear _everything_.”

Jisung’s eyes widened, and he shifted in place to look at Minho properly. “No way. Everything?”

“Every. Fucking. Thing.” Minho scowled. Then his face softened, and he gazed at Jisung, something indecipherable behind his expression. “I could hear your bed creaking. I could hear banging on the walls. I could hear you groaning. I could hear the way you made her feel. I could hear her begging for you, begging for it ‘harder’ and ‘faster,’ telling you how good it was . . .”

Jisung cringed. “I’m sorry, that must’ve been awful, shit . . .”

“It _was_ awful, but . . .” Minho said, then bit his lip. An embarrassed sort of smile crossed his face. “It also . . . _really_ turned me on.”

Jisung audibly gasped, and his eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. “It wh— _Huh_?”

Minho giggled shyly. “I know, I know, it’s weird, but . . . Fuck, it made me horny as shit. I don’t even know why. And every time, I only narrowly stopped myself from going to your room, pulling her away from you, and begging you to fuck me instead.”

While Jisung was certainly delighted that Minho was, on this rare occasion, being very open, all of this new, scandalous information was making his brain turn into soup and come pooling out his ears. He tried to imagine what that would’ve been like, if Minho had interrupted one of his hook-ups, if he’d begged for Jisung to replace her with him. Realistically, it probably wouldn’t have gone well. The woman would’ve gotten angry, Jisung likely would’ve rejected him, and their relationship would’ve been tarnished for good. However, theoretically, the idea was enticing, the image of Minho on his knees, begging to be fucked, begging to be brought within an inch of his life with Jisung’s cock. Very enticing, indeed.

“Of course, I wouldn’t have done that. It would’ve been terribly rude of me,” Minho went on, cheekily. “Instead, I just sat here, in my bed, listening, pining . . .”

His tone was mockingly wistful, and Jisung couldn’t help a laugh. He joked along, “Just listening, huh? Ear pressed up against the wall? That’s some _Making a Murderer_ -type shit.”

Minho giggled riotously, covering his mouth. “I didn’t have my _ear_ against the _wall_ , I’m not a fuckin’ freak. Besides, you were so loud I didn’t even need to do that.”

“Uh-huh. Still, I can’t stop imagining it.” Jisung smiled. “Seriously, though, I do feel bad. I was having fun while you were just wallowing in horniness. I wish I’d known, I’m such an asshole . . .”

Minho shook his head. “It’s not your fault. Like I said, I hid it well. And I wasn’t just _wallowing in horniness_ , y’know.”

Jisung smirked. “Then what _were_ you doing?”

Minho looked away coyly. “Well . . . What do you think I used all that lube for before now?”

Jisung stalled, feeling his blood run cold for a second. He looked at Minho incredulously. “No way, you didn’t—?”

Minho buried his face in Jisung’s neck, embarrassed. “I _did_. I couldn’t help it. You weren’t fucking me, but it was so easy to _pretend_ you were.”

Jisung tried to form words, but nothing came out, just a baffled breath, as he pointed a distant gaze to the ceiling. All that time, he’d been nearly oblivious to Minho’s presence, while Minho had been, by the sounds of it, transfixed by his. He couldn’t help but imagine it, Minho touching himself, whispering Jisung’s name. It was certainly an image, one he’d probably be thinking about for a very long time.

His thoughts were interrupted by Minho letting out a soft noise. “I don’t wanna talk about this anymore, I’m embarrassed. Let’s talk about something else.”

Jisung was thankful for the change in conversation, even though it _was_ thoroughly interesting. “Okay, like what?”

“I don’t know.” Minho shrugged. Then, a devilish smile crossed his face, and he sat up, sliding himself on top of Jisung and placing his palms out flat on his chest. “Let’s talk about . . . something _dirty_.”

Jisung chuckled. “This _is_ dirty, though.”

“Something _else_ dirty,” Minho insisted.

“Mm, alright,” Jisung agreed, sitting up and wrapping his arms around Minho’s waist. “Well, you’re not the only one. I fantasized about you too, y’know.”

Minho smirked. “I know. The popsicle thing. I remember.”

Jisung flushed, glancing away. “Yeah, the ‘popsicle thing.’ You did that on purpose, didn’t you? Admit it.”

“The first time, no. Well, not _really_ ,” Minho said. “I didn’t have an ulterior motive for buying the popsicles. And I ate one because I wanted to. But then . . . I noticed you were getting a little antsy, so I did play it up a bit.”

Jisung leaned in closer, brushing their lips together. “You minx. You really got me going. I wanted you to blow me _so_ badly. And when you actually did . . . God. It was better than I ever could’ve imagined.”

Minho shivered a little, biting his lip. “Fuck, I love it when you talk dirty. Do more.”

Jisung ran his hands up Minho’s sides, tickling his skin. “What kind of dirty-talk do you like? Degradation? Name-calling? Descriptions?”

“I don’t know. Anything that comes out of your mouth is hot,” Minho breathed, squirming beneath Jisung’s touch.

“Then I’ll say this. Baby, that was one of the best fucks of my life. I mean that,” Jisung murmured, Minho swallowing his words. “The sounds you make, and the way you call my name. It’s too much.”

Minho tilted forward and captured his lips, kissing him hotly, slowly, sensuality crackling between them. He pulled away, and Jisung felt something brush against his stomach, so he looked down to find Minho was hard again, his dick twitching and smearing pre-cum across Jisung’s navel.

“Someone’s energetic,” he commented, glancing back up at Minho’s face.

Minho smiled. “Ready for round two?”

Jisung ran a hand through his hair, still drenched with sweat, his chest still heaving and his heart still beating like he was running. He said, “I’m exhausted, but fuck _yes_ , I’m ready.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll do the work this time,” Minho promised, his voice low and sultry, as he gently pushed Jisung’s chest so he’d lay back down. He slid himself down a bit so he sat on Jisung’s thighs, and he quickly stripped off the used condom, tossing it on the floor.

Jisung looked, judgingly, down at the discarded rubber, then back up at Minho. Minho fluttered his lips and said, “Relax, I’ll clean it up later.”

“You better. Nothing worse than stepping on a used condom,” Jisung muttered, wrinkling his nose.

“I gather you speak from experience?” Minho teased.

“Yes. Yes I do.” Jisung nodded.

Minho tore a new square off the roll of condoms and unwrapped it, tossing the package on the floor next to the old one. Jisung couldn’t explain it, but there was something weirdly sexy about his aloofness, the way he sat up there like Jisung’s thighs were his throne, throwing things aside like servants were going to appear to clean them up. It was probably just because it was him, as everything he did was alluring, everything about his behavior and the way he carried himself was attractive, all his mannerisms and his whole persona, down to his very aura, he was just _sexy_. 

Minho carefully hooked a finger around Jisung’s dick and lifted it so he could wrap it up securely, then he applied more lube over the entire length before situating himself above it, his tongue pinched between his teeth as he lined himself up. He wriggled his hips as he slowly lowered his body, but it did not go as smoothly as intended, Jisung’s dick slipping and ending up adjacent to his tailbone instead of its proper destination.

Jisung chuckled a little. “Want me to help? I can hold it—”

“Shh, I got it,” Minho interrupted, holding up a finger. He tried again, making sure Jisung’s tip was squished firmly against his hole before he pushed down, closing one eye in a wince as Jisung entered him, but he didn’t falter, he didn’t stop until he was seated firmly in Jisung’s lap, every inch inside him.

“Holy fuck,” Jisung breathed, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Yeah, holy _fuck_ ,” Minho repeated, his head tilting back. “You keep whining about being fifth on the big-dick scale, but six inches is a _lot_.”

Jisung chuckled warmly. “Mm, well, in your tiny hole, even _two_ inches would be a lot.”

Minho exhaled a small laugh, running one hand through his own curls as he began rocking back and forth, his legs already starting to shake. He leaned back, bracing his palms against Jisung’s knees as he lifted his hips up, rolling down with a shudder and a moan, his nails digging into Jisung’s skin. The gentle orange lamplight shone against the sweat on his chest, and Jisung could do nothing but stare, at his perky nipples and the hickeys on his neck, at the fading nail-marks on his waist. He almost didn’t even notice the sensations of Minho’s hole around his cock—Minho was just so beautiful, dazzling and enrapturing, a breathtaking and unstoppable force beyond all human comprehension. Jisung couldn’t remember the last time, if ever, he’d been so captured by another person, to the point that his heart, his mind, and his soul were wholly _owned_ , his entire being completely surrendered to another’s grasp. It was terrifying, but he couldn’t imagine it any other way. He wouldn’t want it any other way.

Jisung sat up and wrapped his arms around Minho, pulling him forward, bringing them chest-to-chest so he could feel his heartbeat, his breathing, his clammy and humid skin. He bent his knees and matched Minho’s movements, thrusting up into him every time he slid down, their forces meeting in the middle, his cock drilling into him as deep as it possibly could, crushing his sweet spot and driving hot whines from his belly. Minho swung his arms around Jisung’s neck, hugging him close and moaning into his ear, whispering dirty nothings as he bounced up and down, the filthy sound of skin-slapping-skin filling the room. Jisung’s whole body felt like it was on fire, an unbelievable heat resonating from deep inside him, sweat dripping out of his every pore and white-hot adrenaline running through his veins. It was a whirlwind happening around him that he was only semi-present for, his ability to think clearly having long since left him.

“God, I’m so sensitive, Jisung, _fuck_ ,” Minho whined into his ear as his movements faltered. “I can’t, I’m gonna come again, I . . . _shit_ . . .”

“Me too, baby, you feel fucking incredible,” Jisung groaned, lightly biting Minho’s shoulder and making him mewl. 

Minho’s nails dug into Jisung’s back again, and he shuddered, a reverberation like an earthquake running through him. He moaned, so softly and so sweetly, a sound Jisung would definitely be hearing in his dreams, and he pulled back to look into Jisung’s eyes, his gaze full of wanton need, dangerously unmasked. 

“Jisungie, I’m coming, _ah_ —” Minho choked, and he went still, throwing his head back and crying out. Jisung rubbed his back and thrusted into him languidly, helping him ride his orgasm out, but his own was not far behind. He gripped Minho’s hips tightly and pushed deep inside him, pelvis stuttering as he came with a wrought groan and a hissed curse.

Minho pulled him in for another kiss before getting off, flopping down onto his back and sprawling out with a sigh. Jisung gazed at him, enthralled, but he quickly noticed something—there was no mess anywhere on Minho’s body, no fluid painted on him other than the layer of sweat, as though he hadn’t finished after all.

Jisung laid down on his side, propping his head on his hand and facing Minho, wondering, “Did you come?”

Minho nodded slowly, doing his squarish smile. “Yeah, I did. Shit, that was good. Short but sweet.”

Jisung’s eyebrows turned up quizzically. He ran a hand across Minho’s stomach and went on, “But nothing came out?”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s normal,” Minho mumbled. “Dry orgasm. I guess my balls had nothin’ left after the first one.”

Jisung made an exaggerated sad face. “Aww, poor balls.”

Minho snorted and playfully smacked him. He got up and crawled over Jisung, collecting the garbage left on the floor. “I’m gonna go pee. And grab us some towels. Pass me that.”

He gestured to the rubber that Jisung was still wearing. Jisung looked at it, then back up at him. “Gross, you sure?”

Minho rolled his eyes. “I’m already holding the first one. Gimme. I’ll throw them out.”

“If you insist . . .” Jisung muttered, stripping it off and dropping it in Minho’s outstretched hand. Minho left the room, returning minutes later with two towels that they used to wipe themselves off, then laid down over the sheets that had been soiled with sweat. They curled up together beneath the blankets, Minho tucked into Jisung’s chest and their legs tangled together.

Jisung pressed his nose into Minho’s hair, falling asleep before he even realized he’d closed his eyes.


	17. Addicted to You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> So, I got this crazy burst of adrenaline, and I just decided to shit this chapter out right away. It's a short one, only about half as long as the last, but this is an extra-special chapter that takes us back in time, in Minho's perspective, looking back on his key memories with Jisung, including the day they met. It's divided into 6 short parts, so it might be a little confusing, but I hope it's formatted well enough that it's not too hard to follow. Also, as I wrote this rather quickly, I apologize if it's not quite as good-quality as the others.
> 
> Also, this chapter turned out a lot sadder than I originally intended, so I apologize in advance.
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I really love reading all your comments, they really keep me going and bring me so much joy :)
> 
> As always, be sure to follow my Twitter (@/mediochris) for all the juicy bonus content and announcements. Also, be sure to check out the "Molasses in the Sky" playlists on Spotify, YouTube, and Apple Music. Links to all three playlists can be found in my pinned thread on Twitter.
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "Addicted to You" by Avicii!
> 
> Happy reading~

_You came into my crazy world_  
_like a cool and cleansing rain._

********************  
**Part 1:** _**The Boy**_  
**January 10, 2020**  
********************

It was a cold and dreary day in the middle of California winter, dark clouds hovering in the sky, spitting out a measly excuse for ‘rain’—not enough to warrant carrying an umbrella, yet still enough to soak through most jackets. The weather was fitting to Minho’s mood, but he didn’t know if he should call it complimentary or a slap to the face. It was Friday, which marked officially seven days that he’d been single. It had felt like longer.

He stood in the lecture hall, staring blankly at the stack of books on the desk that his professor had asked him to return to the library. He was a TA, which meant he spent a few days a week doing all the work his professor didn’t want to do—grading assignments and quizzes, badgering the students who didn’t hand in their work on time, and, apparently, bussing loads of books from one place to the next. He sighed heavily, carding one hand through his hair, before pressing his chest to the stack of books and slipping his fingers underneath, hoisting it off the desk. 

He tried not to wobble as he carried the cargo through the busy hallway, zig-zagging past fellow students that stood in clumps and others that were rushing to get someplace, maybe to classes or the cafeteria. He could hardly see over the top of the stack, the topmost book balanced right against his nose, and it seemed like not a single person cared that he was in a compromised position, as they refused to move aside when he approached, making him have to twist his body in all directions to avoid them. A deep irritation rumbled in his chest, a desire to dump the books on the feet of everyone who got in his way, and he was fairly certain that sour emotion stemmed from the lack of consideration in his peers, and not from his own, personal, problems. Yeah, it was definitely everyone _else_ , not him.

He’d almost made it to the library, no books dropped on any feet, when suddenly, someone came flying at him, rounding a corner so quickly they didn’t see him, resulting in Minho getting devastatingly shoulder-checked, sending him toppling over onto his butt and every book in his hands scattering across the floor. The loud noise attracted eyes from all around him, and some students even had the audacity to laugh. 

“Oh, my God! I am so sorry! Are you okay?”

Minho inhaled a deep, angered breath, like a riled rhino preparing to stampede. He shifted onto his knees and twisted around, pointing a massacring glare at his victim, a host of nasty words ready to tumble from his lips. However, when he rested his eyes on the assailant, all those words dissolved, leaving him to just stare, mouth hanging open.

It was a boy, roughly his age or slightly younger, dressed in sweat pants and a jean jacket over a Supreme shirt, fluffy black bangs sticking out from underneath his beanie. He had these big, round eyes filled with remorse, and he held his hands out in front of him, frozen with guilt. He looked like a lamb, or a rodent—prey—and in any other situation, Minho would’ve torn him a new one. But something about this boy made the breath catch in Minho’s throat, disarming him. Maybe it was the fact that he looked so genuinely apologetic, or maybe, just perhaps, Minho might’ve found him a little bit cute.

“I . . .” Minho mumbled out, turning his head quickly so the boy’s stupid face would stop distracting him. “I’m fine. No worries.”

He shuffled over to start picking up the books, re-stacking them. He heard a rustling noise, and glanced over his shoulder to watch the boy drop his bag on the floor and kneel down to help, collecting some of the books that had fallen closer to the wall. Minho was pleasantly confused by this. Most people would’ve said their apologies and went on their way, leaving him to fix everything by himself, but this boy was different. This boy was _helping_ him, even though he never asked.

The boy held out the books he’d collected, looking up, his eyebrows knotted with worry. “Are you sure? I got you pretty good, didn’t I . . .”

“I’m fine,” Minho insisted, taking the books handed to him. But when he did, his fingers accidentally brushed against the boy’s, and their gazes locked, a shiver running up both of Minho’s arms. He quickly ripped the books out of the boy’s hands and looked away. 

“Sorry, again. I wasn’t looking where I was going,” the boy mumbled sheepishly.

“Stop apologizing, I said it’s fine,” Minho quipped. He didn’t mean to be rude, but the boy’s presence was bothering him in some indescribable way, and he desperately needed an escape. Luckily, he’d succeeded in re-stacking all the books, and so he hooked his hands underneath them again, but he struggled to lift them up off the ground.

“Here, let me help,” the boy said, and before Minho could argue, he grabbed half the stack and stood up. As irritating as that was—Minho didn’t _need_ his help—it did make the books easier to lift.

Once he stood up, he muttered, “Thanks. Give them here, I can handle it.”

“Are you—”

“ _Yes_ , I’m sure,” Minho huffed. The boy slowly replaced the books, and Minho nodded his farewell, turning back in the direction of the library.

“Wait! Can I ask you something?” the boy called out.

Minho sighed and turned to him, his brow lifted. The boy went on, “Um, I’m looking for the broadcasting station. Do you know where that is?”

“That way,” Minho told him, jutting his nose in a random direction. He had no idea where the broadcasting station was, he just wanted this interaction to be over.

“Thanks!” the boy replied, doing a happy little heel-hop and casting him a wide, toothy smile. Minho ignored the way that made him feel.

With that, the boy turned and finally went on his way, rushing off in what could be the right direction, but probably wasn’t. Minho almost felt bad for sending him on a wild-goose chase, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. He had work to do.

************************  
**Part 2:** _**Small World**_  
**January 14, 2020**  
************************

It had been days since the tumultuous interaction, and Minho still, for some unknown reason, couldn’t stop thinking about that mysterious boy. Images of his round, brown eyes and big, dumb grin flashed in his brain every time he wasn’t paying attention, and he kept having to physically slap himself out of it. He wasn’t sure if he should be annoyed or thankful, as thoughts of this boy at least prevented him from thinking about _He Who Must Not Be Named_. Even so, it was tiring. He didn’t even know that boy’s name, or anything about him—there was no reason for his brain to be invaded. 

He’d been passing time day by day, drowning himself in busywork to avoid the strange feelings in his heart and his gut, even going so far as to demand extra work from his professor. As such, he’d been sent on another book run, this time to gather some psychology texts from the library. Minho didn’t even know what his professor needed the books for, but it didn’t matter. It was a distraction.

He looked down at the slip of paper he’d been given, on which his professor had scribbled down the titles of the books she needed. He scanned the shelves until he found all three, then began carrying them toward the front desk. He made it as far as the threshold of the common area, where long tables and sofas were set up for students to read or study quietly, when suddenly, a vaguely-familiar voice graced his ear.

“This is ass, Hyunjin. This is _not_ how I imagined my glorious days of overseas study.” It was the boy, _that_ boy, the same boy as four days prior, sitting on one of the couches with his head thrown back. He was talking to another guy with bleached, shoulder-length hair, and he had his laptop open on the table in front of him, though he didn’t seem to be using it, the screen black. They were speaking Korean, which Minho found surprising. There weren’t that many Korean students at the university, so what were the chances that the boy, _his_ boy, was from Korea, just like him? It felt like fate.

“I won’t listen to you complain anymore, Jisung,” said the other one, with the blonde hair—Hyunjin, presumably. “You’ll find a place soon. There’s gotta be _some_ place within your budget.”

_Jisung_. The boy’s name was Jisung. Ji-Sung. Jisung. It was a pretty name, and it fit him well. Minho found himself whispering his name out loud, feeling the way it rolled off his tongue, the way his lips moved when he said it. He shook his head roughly. What had gotten into him?

“Yeah. A crack house,” Jisung muttered. “You think I haven’t been looking for an apartment? You think I _want_ to live on Chan’s couch forever? I mean, it’s not like he’d kick me out, but . . . it’s just sad.”

Chan? _Bang_ Chan? Minho’s friend and fellow third-year student, Bang Chan? No way, he must’ve meant a different ‘Chan,’ he couldn’t possibly know the same one. Unless he did, and they actually had a mutual friend. Those ideas of ‘fate’ started coming to him, again.

“Bah, you’ll find something. Lots of people around here are looking for roommates,” mentioned Hyunjin. He was right, of course. Even Minho himself had been looking for a roommate for some time, as it was lonely in his two-bedroom and the rent was slightly too high for him to handle on his own. Just then, an idea struck him, but he quickly shook it away. He’d only just met this Jisung, they didn’t know one another at all, and Minho was constantly bothered by his existence. Living together would only cause problems for them both.

He decided he’d been eavesdropping long enough and continued on his way, sneaking past Jisung so he wouldn’t be noticed—not like he was _hiding_ , per se, just avoiding unnecessary conversation. He checked out the books and left the library, a certain someone’s name ringing in his head all the way back to the lecture hall.

**********************  
**Part 3:** _**Like Fate**_  
**February 17, 2020**  
**********************

2월 17일, 1:57 오후  
Starbucks에서 만나 (Meet me at Starbucks)  
난 너와 어떤 것에 관해 얘기하고 싶어 (I want to talk to you about something)

Minho had received the text from Chan almost thirty minutes ago, and it had made curiosity and apprehension spiral in his body. He and Chan were friends, but they weren’t _that_ close, only meeting up occasionally to smoke or grab drinks, so the thought of Chan wanting to ‘talk about something’ was certainly worrisome. Although, he had a sinking suspicion of what it could be about, a suspicion that made him feel a little sick to his stomach, yet also a little excited. 

He walked through the door of the Starbucks, glancing around until he spotted Chan sitting at one of the tables. He was looking at his phone, and thus didn’t notice Minho until he sat down across from him. Chan smiled and set his phone face-down on the table, straightening in his seat.

“Want to grab a drink first?” Chan offered. He himself had already drank half of his for-here americano.

“No, I’m okay. What’s this about?” Minho asked, choking down the lump in his throat.

Chan nodded, and looked slightly away. He began, “Well, I have a proposition for you.”

“Which is?”

“Erm, you need a roommate, right? Help with the rent an’ stuff?” Chan wondered. Immediately, Minho knew what he was going to say next, and he considered lying, but eventually decided against it. He murmured a confirmation, and Chan went on, “I have this friend. His name’s Han Jisung. He’s been staying at my place for the past couple months and, while I don’t mind having him around, he needs his own pad. I could introduce him to you?”

_Han_. Han Jisung. His name got prettier with every syllable that was added to it. Minho gulped, and he had the shuddering feeling that he was making a mistake when he replied, “Sure. The other bedroom in my apartment’s been empty for too long.”

“Awesome! I think you two could get along. Your energies would blend together well, I feel,” Chan rambled. “If you want to get this over with, I could text him to meet us here, and you guys could talk it out?”

“Okay,” Minho agreed, too quickly. He subtly cringed. What was he getting himself into? This was a boy who’d gotten on his nerves quicker than anyone else, and not in the typical way. His life was already in enough turmoil, having only recently escaped a lifeless relationship, and he didn’t need to be adding any interesting characters into the mix. Still, he’d gone and done it, and he could only hope this would go well, and not crash and burn like the last one.

Chan typed hurriedly on his phone before setting it down again. They waited, passing the time with bland conversation, about their jobs and their classes and whether or not pineapple belonged on pizza. After almost an hour had gone by, Chan’s eyes landed on something behind Minho’s head, and he smiled, waving someone over.

“Minho, this is— Well, I’ll let you two do the talking,” Chan said as Jisung pulled up a chair and sat down. He wore a baggy hoodie and sweats, and his hair was damp as though he’d recently showered. He smiled warmly at Minho, that wide, gummy smile that made his stomach do flips, and he held out a hand.

“Hi, I’m Jisung! Say, have we met somewhere before? I could swear . . .” He tilted his head to the side and squinted, studying Minho’s face, trying his best to place it.

Minho couldn’t handle the eye contact, and he had to avert his gaze. He shook Jisung’s hand, and lied, “I don’t recall, no. I’m Lee Minho, nice to . . . meet you.”

“ _Lee Minho_ , cool!” Jisung repeated cheerily, and Minho had to hold his breath to stifle the emotions that arose upon hearing his own name leave Jisung’s lips. “So, Chan tells me you’re looking for a roommate? ‘Cause actually, I’ve been looking for a place to—”

Minho didn’t want this to go on any longer than it needed to. He interrupted, “Rent is fifteen-hundred a month. You’d pay half, so seven-fifty. You’d have your own room, but we’d share a bathroom, kitchen, and living space. You’d also have to pitch in for groceries, utilities, and chores, like dishes and stuff. Also, I have three cats. That alright with you?”

Jisung blinked a few times, bewildered. Once he’d absorbed all that information, he grinned, and nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, that sounds great to me! I like cats.”

Minho could easily tell he was lying, but he didn’t mention it. As much as he felt heavily burdened by the thought of living day in, day out, in close quarters with a boy this attractive, he also felt a glowing, warm excitement thrumming in his chest. This might’ve been a great idea, or a very, _very_ bad one.

“Alright, then. We can get all the boring paperwork done, and hopefully, by the end of this week, you won’t be hogging Chan’s couch anymore,” Minho announced, forcing a small smile.

Jisung bounced giddily in his seat. “Yes! Finally! Okay, be right back, I’m gonna grab a drink.”

He got up so quickly he almost fell over and scurried to line up at the counter. Once he was out of earshot, Minho leaned closer to Chan and whispered, “Just one question. Is he gay?”

Chan snorted loudly. “Nope. As long as I’ve known him, he’s been an insatiable pussy-fiend. He doesn’t have a homophobic bone in his body, though, so don’t be worried about that.”

“I wasn’t,” Minho muttered, glancing over his shoulder to look at Jisung, who was quite obviously flirting with the lady taking his order. He tried not to feel disappointed.

**********************  
**Part 4:** _**Not Again**_  
**February 21, 2020**  
**********************

The paperwork had been completed, marking the end of Minho’s stress-free, home-alone days. Chan had let Jisung use his truck to transport all his stuff, and now, on this Friday evening, Jisung was moving in, his three duffel bags full of clothes and satchel of toiletries sitting on Minho’s living-room floor while he ran out to grab the fourth, and final, duffel bag. Minho sat on the couch, staring blankly at the wall, his mind clouded with weighted thoughts; some of regret, some of hopelessness, and some of utter despair. Ever since they’d met, that first time in the university hallway, he hadn’t been able to get Jisung off his mind, and now he was going to be _living_ with him, spending every day and night with him. It wouldn’t have been so bad, if Jisung was at least gay.

But he wasn’t. He was a straight boy, just like the dozens of others that Minho’s heart had been broken by throughout his life, due to his uncontrollable and fruitless attractions. Just like Choi Yunho, who’d shoved him and called him ‘disgusting’ after he’d confessed to him in eighth grade. Just like Ahn Jonghyun, who’d spat in his face and outed him to the entire school in tenth grade. Just like Jamie Fisher, who’d led him on for three months pretending he loved him, when all he really wanted was a quick fuck. Minho made the same promise to himself every single time it happened—that he would never, ever, fall for a straight boy again, yet somehow, it kept happening. Well, not this time. He would make sure of it.

Jisung came lumbering through the front door, breathing heavily through the effort of lugging his bag with him, which he dropped next to the others before bending over for a rest, his hands on his knees. He straightened up, flipping his hair off his forehead and turning to Minho.

“So, where should I unload my stuff?” he asked.

“Your room’s the first on the right, down the hall. If you have any clean towels or sheets, you can put them in the small closet in the hallway. And bathroom stuff can go, well, in the bathroom,” Minho explained dryly.

Jisung nodded and took his bags, one-by-one, into his new room. He was gone for several minutes, likely sorting his clothes into the drawer and setting up his bed, meanwhile Minho scrolled through his phone to distract himself from his garbled and unpleasant mind. Jisung returned, and he’d gotten changed, now wearing grey sweats and a plain white t-shirt, fuzzy socks with acorns on them on his feet. He looked around awkwardly, with the air of someone wanting to spark conversation but not knowing how to.

Eventually, he wondered, “Where are those cats you mentioned?”

Minho shrugged. He sat up and grabbed an old receipt off the coffee table, crinkling it in his fist. Like magic, all three cats came padding over from different corners of the apartment, gathering at meowing at his feet.

He gestured to them one at a time. “This is Soonie, this is Doongie, and this is Dori. They might take a while to warm up, but soon enough you won’t be able to keep them away from you.”

Jisung smiled gently and rounded the table to sit on the couch, three cushions away from Minho. He said, “They’re cute. I like cats.”

“You mentioned that before,” Minho muttered. He could still tell that was a lie. 

It was quiet for a few moments, the cats eventually growing disinterested and returning to their own devices. Minho wondered silently about Jisung—if he didn’t actually, despite what he said, like cats, then why had he agreed to move into a small apartment with three of them? Was he really _that_ desperate for a place to live? He easily could’ve stayed with Chan until he found something more suitable. It didn’t make sense. They were strangers to one another, there was really nothing exciting about living with Minho, aside from the apartment’s close proximity to campus and the relatively low rent cost. Maybe it was just as simple as that.

“So, um,” Jisung started slowly, clearing his throat, “I guess, since we’ll be living together from now on, maybe we should . . . get to know each other better?”

Minho looked at him, and his mind went blank. He didn’t really take in a word of what he’d said. He was distracted by Jisung’s soft brown eyes that twinkled in the lamplight, by his sharp-yet-squishy features, by his demeanor that was a perfect blend of cute and hot. He could certainly think of a _few_ ways they could ‘get to know each other better.’

He’d been staring too long. Jisung’s head tilted. He was still waiting for a response. Minho coughed and looked away, squeezing his eyes shut. He couldn’t go on like this, getting distracted, letting his thoughts get ahead of himself. He couldn’t let Jisung get too close. He had to keep him at arms-length, for the sake of them both.

“Just because we’re roommates, it doesn’t mean we’re gonna be friends,” Minho snapped. He wasn’t looking at Jisung, but he could feel him tense up, could feel his energy droop like imaginary dog ears. Perhaps he was too harsh, but he couldn’t take it back. It was better this way anyway.

“Oh . . . Right. Okay,” Jisung murmured, dejectedly.

“I have to go to work,” Minho said, standing up and retreating to his room to change. Once he was done, he left the apartment without another word, without so much as even a glance in Jisung’s direction.

***************************  
**Part 5:** _**Wish I Was Her**_  
**July 26, 2020**  
***************************

It was a humid summer’s night, the skies outside dark and the space inside lonely. It was one of those rare occasions, since Jisung had moved in, when Minho was at home alone, lying in his bed, the covers tucked up to his chin. He should’ve been sleeping. He should’ve been, but he wasn’t, he couldn’t. He was bothered, bothered by the fact that it was nearly midnight and Jisung had not come home. 

Minho chewed nervously on his fingernails. He didn’t even know what he was nervous about. Jisung was probably just at a party, or maybe he’d gone to someone’s house, a girl’s house, perhaps, and maybe they were . . . It didn’t matter, anyway. Minho had done well to keep his distance from Jisung, keep him from getting too close. Still, that had done nothing to stop his festering crush. Even after months of cold and unfriendly companionship, he still got shivers whenever their eyes met, and he still nearly jumped out of his skin every time they accidentally touched. He still couldn’t get over Jisung’s round eyes, his slightly-chubby cheeks that he always stuffed full of food, his dumb laugh and his stupid, bad, awful jokes. He still couldn’t get over Jisung’s smile, even though he barely saw it anymore.

Just then, he heard the front door open, slowly, quietly. Two pairs of unsteady feet shuffled inside, and Minho’s stomach clenched when he heard a female voice giggling uncontrollably. So it was one of _those_ nights, huh?

“Shh! My roommate’s asleep, so we gotta be quiet,” he heard Jisung say. The two people crept their way through the house, and then he heard Jisung’s bedroom door close. He felt sick.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened. Every so often—more often than Minho would like—Jisung would bring a woman home. It was always the same. They would have sex, thinking they were being quiet when, really, they weren’t, and then she would leave. And every morning after, Jisung would mention nothing about it to Minho, as though he assumed Minho didn’t know. But he did know. He knew everything, more than he wanted to know, and as much as he wished he could choose not to care, just roll over and go to sleep, he could never bring himself to. It bothered him. It bothered him so much, more than it probably should’ve, to the point that even long after she’d left and the house was quiet, Minho would lie awake in his bed to pass another restless night by, staring at the ceiling.

He huffed and tossed the covers halfway off himself. The irritation was making him hot. He tried not to listen, tried to convince himself he wasn’t aware of what he was aware of—that Jisung was sleeping with someone who wasn’t him. He tried his best to ignore it, ignore the quiet clinking of a belt being unbuckled and the rustling of clothes being removed, the soft feminine giggles and gasps. He tried to pretend it wasn’t happening, and it only got increasingly harder to do so, as now there were sounds of bedsprings creaking and muffled moans, dirty and barely-intelligible words. Minho hated himself for it, but every time she whined Jisung’s name, it sent quivers of arousal down his stomach, and his pajama pants were starting to feel a size too small.

He wasn’t the type to get off on others’ enjoyment. Not normally, at least. He wasn’t perverted like that. But there was something about listening to these women moaning for Jisung that made it almost too easy to imagine himself in their place. It wasn’t like he wanted to think that way—he had no choice but to listen, and he couldn’t help the direction his thoughts went. He scratched at his thigh and shut his eyes, trying to talk himself out of doing something he’d regret, something he always did, and always regretted. Closing his eyes was a bad idea, though, for when he did, he saw Jisung hovering over him, felt Jisung’s body against his own. He’d lost the reins on his imagination. It was too late, now.

“Fuck it,” he muttered, rolling over and opening his bedside drawer, rooting around inside it. He was so turned on that he’d gone slightly out of his mind, losing the ability to make rational decisions, his every thought geared only toward chasing release. He grasped the medium-sized bottle of lube and hauled it out—it was the second one he’d bought after Jisung had moved in, the first having been emptied some time ago, as this was an almost nightly occurrence. Avoiding falling for Jisung was one thing, but avoiding sexual fantasies about him was another, something Minho had not yet found the ability to do. Somehow, shutting out the desires of the heart was narrowly easier than the desires of his dick.

He stripped his pajama pants off and threw them to the end of his bed, then lifted his knees up to his chest as he popped the cap of the bottle. Initially, the first few times he’d gotten off to thoughts of Jisung, he’d done so by jacking off, but after a while, that wasn’t enough anymore. He could hear, in the next room, the vulgar sounds of Jisung fucking someone, and he wanted more than anything to be that someone, but unfortunately, his own three fingers were as close as he would ever get.

He coated his digits with lube and wasted no time shoving all three inside himself at once. He wanted the pain, he welcomed it, as though it was just punishment for the rudely inappropriate act he was committing. He always treated Jisung so coldly, yet he had the audacity to pleasure himself and imagine Jisung fucking him, and he hated himself for it. He resented his behavior, his actions; he resented Jisung, for sleeping with other people; and then, he resented himself more for thinking that, as he had no right. Jisung didn’t belong to him. Jisung would never belong to him.

He came with a mumbled whisper of Jisung’s name, arching his back and biting his hand so hard it bled. Once the temporary, orgasm-induced euphoria had subsided, he was bogged down by self-hatred so heavy he couldn’t get up, couldn’t clean the blood off his hand nor the cum off his chest. So he just laid there, dirty and disgusted and too sad to cry.

*************************  
**Part 6:** _**Jamie**_  
**September 25, 2020**  
*************************

Jisung had shown up at the dance studio earlier that day—not to see Minho, of course, but to talk to Hyunjin. He had mentioned something about a frat party. Minho didn’t know why, but he had a strange desire to tag along, even though it would most likely end in heartache. He’d probably spend the whole night on the sidelines, watching Jisung flirt with girls at the party, maybe even leave with one. Perhaps he had a small hope that by going with him, he wouldn’t end up with a girl after all. It was a stupid and useless idea, but one he couldn’t shake.

It was around nine o’clock, and Jisung had been in the bathroom for some time. Minho sat in his room, listening to Jisung grunting and groaning as he struggled with his hair. Finally, he heard Jisung leave the bathroom, and although he tried to stop himself, he got up off his bed and left his room, leaning against the door frame with his hands crossed. Jisung noticed his sudden appearance and turned to face him, silent, though his eyes were searching.

Unsure what else to say, Minho evenly asked, “You going to that party?”

Jisung seemed surprised at his question, as he nodded slowly. There was something else hidden behind his expression, though Minho couldn’t tell what it was. Jisung blinked a couple times and said, “Do you wanna come, too?”

Minho stalled for a second. He hadn’t expected to be invited, and was pleasantly surprised. “I’d like to, if that’s alright?”

Jisung shrugged, swallowing thickly. He stammered, “A-A lot of people are going, it’s an open house. Come if you want to, Hyunjin’s driving.”

Minho nodded. He’d been happy to be invited, but of course, it wasn’t so much an ‘invitation’ as it was an ‘I can’t stop you from coming, so come.’ In any case, he’d sealed his fate, so he quickly dipped back into his room to grab a hoodie before following Jisung to the front door, mumbling, “Okay. Let’s go.”

They were climbing into the back of Hyunjin’s car soon after. Momentarily stunned, Hyunjin twisted his body around in his seat. “Minho? You’re coming too?” 

“Yeah. Got nothing better to do,” Minho said. It was partially a lie, as he definitely had schoolwork to catch up on, but this seemed altogether more appealing. Hyunjin seemed satisfied with his answer, though, as he simply shrugged and put the car in gear.

Soon enough, they were parked outside the Zeta Delta Phi house, situated on the other end of campus, just far enough away from Minho’s apartment that he was dreading having to walk back. They left the car, and after enduring a strange and exaggerated initiation ritual involving whiskey shots and cigarettes, they were allowed inside the party. Hyunjin immediately got pulled away by a gaggle of frat boys, so Minho quickly made a beeline for the bar counter. If he was to be alone with Jisung, he would need alcohol to do it.

The frat boy running the bar nodded to him as he approached, asking, “What can I get for you?”

“A Blowjob!” Minho requested, loudly so to be heard over the music blaring through the speakers. He felt eyes on him, and turned his head to see Jisung staring, struck, at him. He asked, “Do you want one?”

“Huh?” Jisung mumbled.

“Do you want a Blowjob?” Minho repeated, louder. He only realized exactly what he’d said after it had left his mouth.

“ _Huh_?” Jisung hollered, startled. Cute.

Minho rolled his eyes, more as an attempt to appear nonchalant than anything else. “A _Blowjob Shot_. It’s Kahlua and Bailey’s topped with whipped cream. You’re technically supposed to take it out of someone’s lap, but you don’t have to.”

Jisung let out a soft breath, shaking his shoulders. “Uh, yeah sure, I’ll try one.”

“Cool,” said Minho, turning back to the frat boy behind the bar. “Two Blowjobs, please.”

They were served promptly. Jisung stared at his like a ten-year-old gazing at a giant lollipop, and Minho couldn’t help but smile. He held up his own shot for a toast, Jisung picking his up to clink their glasses together, then they simultaneously tapped them on the counter and downed them.

“Wow. A lot smoother than the Jack Daniel’s,” Jisung commented.

“Right?” replied Minho. He looked at Jisung, quickly noticing the small dollop of whipped cream that rested on the corner of Jisung’s lips. He blinked, trying not to imagine it was something else, and he said, “Wait, you got whipped cream on your lip.”

“I do?” Jisung mumbled, wiping his mouth. He missed the whipped cream by a mile, and Minho cringed to himself.

“No, the other— Here, let me.” Perhaps this was the universe giving him a chance to indulge himself. He wasn’t about to let it pass him by, so he leaned forward and gingerly touched Jisung’s lip, slowly and carefully wiping the whipped cream off. His lips felt plush and soft beneath his thumb, and it got his heart beating like a drum behind his ribcage, thumping against it like it wanted to break free. He had no idea what compelled him to do it, but once he drew his hand away, he licked the whipped cream off. It tasted sweet. It tasted like Jisung.

Right then, his eyes caught something at the other end of the room, behind Jisung, and he felt his blood run cold. It was Jamie, looking as good as ever—no, better—wearing an army-green bomber jacket and expensive jeans, his hand half-tucked into his front pocket. He was talking to some blonde girl in a red slip dress and matching lipstick, and Minho felt his stomach clench.

“Fuck, my ex is here,” he said darkly.

Jisung’s head swivelled about like there was a fly buzzing around him. “Who? Jamie? Where?”

Minho was caught off-guard by that. He hadn’t expected Jisung to know about his exes, much less know any of their names. He grimaced. “Yeah, Jamie, over there.”

Jisung looked over at Jamie, and the girl he was talking to. Then, he looked down at his shot glass. “Wow. She’s really pretty.”

That had to be a joke, right? Minho made a noise. “Not the girl.”

Jisung looked at Jamie again, then back at Minho, blinking, confused. “Jamie is . . . a guy?”

“Yeah,” Minho replied. “I’m gay. I thought you knew?”

Jisung’s eyes widened, and he looked completely blown away. It seemed he hadn’t known. Minho was surprised by that. Sure, they weren’t very close, and sure, they never talked much, certainly not about their personal lives, but surely he must’ve mentioned it at least once? Even if only in passing? Maybe he hadn’t, but he thought one of their mutual friends would’ve mentioned it to Jisung. Obviously, that hadn’t happened, meaning Minho had just officially come out to his roommate. He felt the back of his neck starting to sweat.

Minho glanced back up at Jamie, and right then, Jamie looked back, catching his eyes. He smiled, and Minho looked away with a start. He muttered, “Fuck, he saw me.”

It was too late. Jamie was already making his way over. Minho balled his hands into fists on top of the bar counter, bracing himself for what was coming.

“Reno? Is that you? Damn, it’s been a while!” said Jamie, far too amiably. “What brings you here?” 

Minho plastered a fake smile on his face as he turned around. “Hey. Uh, same as you, I guess. Checking out the party. Kinda lame, right?”

Jamie shrugged. “Zeta Delta Phi parties usually take a bit to kick into full gear, but once they do, it’s unforgettable. Or, very forgettable, depending how much you drink.”

Minho forced a short chuckle. The blonde reached her hand forward and grinned brightly, saying, “Hi, I’m Brooklyn. Are you a friend of Jamie’s?”

Minho had to fight to hide an expression of distaste, as he felt bile beginning to rise in his throat. “Yeah. I’m a ‘friend.’”

“Brooklyn’s my girl,” Jamie expressed flauntingly, Minho felt like he might puke.

Brooklyn nodded enthusiastically. “We’ve been dating for a year, it’s been so great. I can’t believe Jamie never mentioned you!”

Jamie looked suddenly awkward, and Minho looked back at him, poorly-masked hostility and sadness burning in his gaze. He’d only broken up with Jamie eight months prior, so if what Brooklyn said was true, that meant Jamie had been two-timing them both. He wanted to say that, reveal the truth to Brooklyn, get his revenge, but something held him back.

He gritted his teeth, and all he could say was, “That’s nice. I’m happy for you.”

“So, uh, who’s this?” Jamie swiftly changed the subject, gesturing to Jisung.

Again, he didn’t know what compelled him to do it, but without thinking, Minho took Jisung’s hand and intertwined their fingers. He stated, “This is my boyfriend, Peter.”

“I— Uh, yeah.” Jisung, thankfully, went along with it. “We’re living together. It’s been _so great_.”

Minho had to suppress a cheeky grin at Jisung mimicking Brooklyn. It was Jamie’s turn to force a smile and speak through gritted teeth. “Living together, huh? That’s nice. I’m happy for you.”

There was an uncomfortable stretch of silence, before Brooklyn finally seemed to sense the atmosphere, and she chuckled awkwardly. “Ha, well, um, I guess we’ll see you around, Reno. Nice meeting you.”

Jamie began stepping away, and he added, “Yeah, nice seeing you. We should catch up. I’ll call you.”

“Okay,” Minho said dryly as they left. His heart hurt. As much as he told himself that he’d gotten over Jamie, in truth, he hadn’t. For some unknown reason, the feelings he once had for him had never gone away, and he hated himself for it. He knew that Jamie was an asshole who couldn’t even treat a rock right, so why did he still harbor feelings for him? For someone like that? Maybe he thought he didn’t deserve any better. But he didn’t want to think like that, and he didn’t want Jisung to see him upset, so he shook his thoughts away, masking his heartache by making a fake-barfing noise.

“Ew, what a skeez,” Jisung commented, letting go of Minho’s hand gently.

“I know. I can’t _believe_ I ever dated that guy,” Minho responded. It was partway true. He did deeply resent himself for falling for someone like that, but at the same time, he’d probably do it again. He was stupid that way. 

He rambled on, “I dumped him eight months ago because he wasn’t ‘out.’ He always wanted our relationship to be a secret and I just wasn’t with it. Though, now that I think about it, he was probably just straight and using me to get his rocks off. Ugh.”

“Eight months ago?” Jisung wondered. “But . . . Brooklyn said they’ve been dating for a year?”

Minho’s nostrils flared, and he felt the bile rise in his throat again. “Yeah. Yeah, she did say that.”

Jisung went quiet. Minho was still looking at Jamie and Brooklyn, who had found a spot by a small round table that Brooklyn sat upon, with Jamie standing between her spread legs. They were kissing, messily, Jamie’s hand tangled in her blonde hair. When they parted, he pointed hazel eyes at Minho, and Minho stared back like he was unfazed, when really, he could almost hear his own heart breaking.

“Asshole! He’s totally dangling her in front of you!” Jisung hissed, but Minho could barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. “Or _she’s_ dangling _him_ in front of you, I’m honestly not sure.”

Minho tapped his fingers restlessly against the bar counter. “Is he still looking over here?”

Jisung scoffed. “Of course he is. Trying to make you all jealous. The nerve of this prick! God, I could just—!”

Minho only really listened to the first part of that, the rest of his ramblings going in one ear and out the other. He was shaking, quivering with worry at what he was about to do, trying desperately to stop himself from doing it. He couldn’t. His mind had made itself up, and his body moved before he could do anything about it. Quickly, he whispered, “Sorry, Jisung.” 

Minho turned and grabbed Jisung’s jacket with both hands, pulling him in for a sloppy and hurried kiss. The soft heat of Jisung’s lips set his body on fire, the most heavenly kind of euphoria enveloping him, like he’d just taken a hit of a strong narcotic. He immediately lost touch with himself, pulled in by the way their bodies moved together, by the way their kiss made everyone else in the room disappear. And for a moment, to Minho’s surprise, it almost felt like Jisung was kissing him back.

Just then, his rational thought returned, and he ripped himself away, breathing roughly through his nose. He started beating himself up mentally, cursing himself, cursing his jealousy and his lack of impulse control. He may have very well fucked up his relationship with Jisung forever, whatever relationship it was or could’ve been. It seemed that was all he was capable of. Fucking things up.

“Sorry. Sorry, Jisung, shit, I’m sorry,” Minho mumbled, as if apologizing would make anything better, as he rubbed his face with his hands. “Using you to make that fuckhead jealous . . . God, I’m so stupid, sorry . . .”

Jisung coughed, blubbering, “No, no, I, uh, I get it. And, uh, hey! It worked! So I’m, uh, glad I could be of service.”

Minho barely heard any of that. His ears were still ringing. But Jisung hadn’t taken off running, yet, so he managed a weak smile and let out a breathy laugh. “It was stupid. It was. I shouldn’t have . . . Anyway, thanks. Let’s just, um, forget this ever happened.”

“Right,” Jisung nodded. “Just forget about it.”

Someone came up behind them and slung their arms around both their shoulders, startling Jisung enough that he let out a yelp and stumbled on his feet. “Hey, hey, hey! Sorry I ditched you guys, I ran into some friends but I’m here now! Let’s get some more shots!”

It was Hyunjin, drunk off his ass and blissfully unaware of the bomb that had just gone off. Jisung struck up a conversation with him, one that Minho scarcely overheard, distantly, as if he was miles away from them. Something about drinking, something about needing to go home. Minho couldn’t focus on the words. He was still cursing his own stupidity, kicking himself, wishing he’d never come to this party. He’d known it was a bad idea, he just hadn’t known it would be _this_ bad.

“Minho, I’m going to walk him to his place. Will you be fine making it home by yourself?” Jisung asked.

Minho nodded, still not looking at him. He knew that was only an excuse to get away, but he was thankful for it. If he had to be around Jisung any longer, he’d probably end up vomiting. It was one of the most horrible, sickening feelings he’d ever felt in his life, and he didn’t even know why. He never had any chance with Jisung anyway, so it didn’t matter that he’d just ruined it. Nothing really mattered at all.

At some point, he managed to pull himself away from the bar and make his way home, hoping that when he got there, Jisung would either be gone or asleep. No such luck, however, as he laid eyes on Jisung, sitting in the dark on the couch, as soon as he walked in the door. They stared at one another for a terrible length of time, Minho rubbing his neck and biting his lip. Then, Jisung looked away, and his heart cracked for the millionth time that night.

“W-Welcome home,” Jisung muttered quietly.

“Yeah. Goodnight.” It was all he could manage to say. He ducked his head and escaped into his bedroom, still feeling like he might hurl. He collapsed onto his bed, his eyes stinging, yet he was too high-strung to cry. There were too many confusing and awful emotions raging inside, and all he wanted was for them to go away. To that end, he typed out a message to a number he hadn’t contacted in a long time.

It was his dealer’s number.


	18. Levitating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> I hope this chapter didn't take too long! I've been making an effort to write at least a little bit each day, but it's been difficult. I'm balancing a strict rehearsal schedule among other things, so finding the time and energy isn't always easy. This chapter is another shorter one, and it's a nice, lightweight story to unwind after all THAT we experienced last time.
> 
> This story is definitely getting grittier! Things are changing gradually for Jisung, and it'll be interesting to see how he navigates it. There's certainly A LOT to unpack, here! Let me know what you think of this chapter in the comments! Your kind words are my greatest source of motivation <3
> 
> As always! Be sure to follow me on Twitter (@/mediochris) and turn my notifications on for regular updates, sneak peeks, spoilers, and other bonus content, plus real-time updates and notices of new releases. Also, check the MITS hashtag so you don't miss a thing! If you haven't already, be sure to look at the "Molasses in the Sky" playlists on Spotify, YouTube, and Apple Music, as I update these playlists with new songs BEFORE chapters are published, so you can get a glimpse into the nature of the chapter through the song. Links to all three playlists can be found in my pinned thread on Twitter.
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "Levitating" by Dua Lipa!
> 
> Happy reading~

_I got you, moonlight, you’re my starlight._   
_I need you, all night, come on dance with me._

A soft, airy crackling sound woke Jisung from his sleep, his consciousness returning to him slowly, until he could feel his head on the pillow and the blankets surrounding his body. He stirred, rolling onto his back and rubbing his eyes open, smacking his lips to fix his drymouth. That same crackling sound came again, and he glanced to his left to see Minho sitting up, his pillow propped against the headboard, hitting his vape and reading a book. Jisung squinted to read the title: _The Devotion of Suspect X_ , by Keigo Higashino.

Minho noticed his movements, and looked down with a smile. “Morning.”

“Hi,” Jisung mumbled sleepily, stretching his arms above his head. “How long have you been awake?”

Minho shrugged. “An hour, maybe. How’d you sleep?”

“Like a baby,” Jisung sighed. He shuffled forward to rest his head on Minho’s hip, wrapping his arm around him. “I’m feeling great this morning.”

Minho closed his book and slid down to hold Jisung closer, ruffling his hair. “Yeah? How so?”

“Dunno. I’m just . . . great,” Jisung hummed. “What’s that you were reading?”

Minho held the book up to the light. “Higashino. He’s my favourite author. I think I’ve read this about a million times.”

Jisung chuckled softly, tucking his face into Minho’s skin and leaving a kiss on his hipbone. Minho continued playing with his hair, running his hand gently through it and twirling strands around his finger. He went on, “So, any particular reason you’re feeling great?”

“I can think of one . . .” Jisung murmured, running his palm down from Minho’s waist to his thigh.

Minho suppressed a coy smile. “And that is?”

“I had some _great_ sex last night,” Jisung said, squeezing Minho’s thigh gently. “Like, life-altering, last-day-on-Earth, I-could-die-right-now great sex.”

Minho ducked his head shyly, blowing a short laugh out his nose. He flipped over, sliding himself into Jisung’s lap, and whispered, “I see. We should have sex more often, then.”

“Mm, yes please,” Jisung mused, running both hands up Minho’s body, feeling all his lines and curves ripple beneath his fingers. Minho leaned in for a passionate kiss, humming against Jisung’s lips and pulling back with a sigh.

He wiggled his shoulders. “Feel like going for a run with me?”

“To where?” Jisung asked.

Minho thought for a moment. “We could get bubble tea?”

“Yeah, I’m down.” Jisung nodded. Then, he paused. “Wait. _Can_ you even go for a run? You know, considering . . .”

Minho scoffed. “Considering what? You think you crippled me? I’m not Felix. It’ll take more than that to stop these legs from working.”

Jisung smirked. “That shall be my next mission, then.”

Minho rolled his eyes and crawled out of bed, stretching his arms out with a groan. Before he got too far away, Jisung reached over to pinch his butt, grinning cheekily when Minho whipped around and shot him a playful glare. Jisung sat up and shimmied out of bed as well, strolling toward the bedroom door, but before he could leave, a sharp gasp from behind caught his attention.

He turned to see Minho staring at him with wide eyes, both hands covering his mouth. Jisung looked back at him, concerned, and slowly wondered, “. . . What?”

Minho took a few, apprehensive steps forward, grabbing him by the shoulder and spinning him around. Jisung felt him running his fingertips down his back as he asked, his tone hushed with shock, “Jesus, doesn’t this hurt?”

“Doesn’t . . . _what_ hurt?” Jisung murmured, twisting his head around to try and see his own back, to no avail.

Minho started laughing uncontrollably. “Oh my God, you look like you got mauled by a cat! Did I do that? I’m sorry!”

Jisung made his way to the standing mirror in the corner of Minho’s room, and turned to see the alleged ‘mauling.’ From the middle of his back all the way to his shoulders, reddened scratches marked him, not deep enough to draw blood but prominent enough that they looked frightening. He chuckled softly, walking up to Minho and pulling him in for a hug.

“Yeah, that was you. Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt,” he promised.

Minho pulled out of the embrace and looked at his hands. “Christ, I need to clip my nails. Fuckin’ talons, these are.”

Jisung snorted. “Like I said, don’t worry. I’m not exactly _into_ pain play, but . . . that was hot.”

“I’m sure it was. Make sure you put some ointment on those wounds, or something,” Minho muttered, rubbing his un-mauled lower back. “Now go get dressed. Bubble tea is calling me.”

Jisung chuckled and left the room, returning to his own and digging through his drawers for suitable clothing. He put on fresh boxers, then a pair of grey sweats and a white t-shirt, pulling a black Adidas hoodie over top. He stuck a beanie on his head and put socks on, then went out to the foyer to pull on running shoes. Minho joined him moments later, wearing a grey Vans hoodie and black sweats. They left the suite and walked out to the sidewalk, where Minho started jogging in place, quick breaths puffing out his cheeks.

“Nearest place is a few blocks that way, close to campus,” he said between exhales. “Race ya?”

Jisung did a couple lunges to stretch his legs. “Oh, you are _on_. Prepare to lose miserably.”

Minho shook his head. “Geez, you shouldn’t have said that. Three-two-one go!”

Minho took off down the sidewalk with very little warning, and Jisung went running after him, calling out, “Hey! That’s cheating!”

They raced the five-and-a-half blocks tirelessly, neck and neck almost the whole way, fighting to break the lead until the bubble tea shop was in sight, where Minho pulled just barely ahead, his hand grabbing the door handle just a half-second before Jisung’s did. 

“Ha-ha! I win!” Minho triumphed.

“No way, I totally won that!” Jisung argued.

Minho stuck his tongue out at him. “Nuh-uh!”

“Yuh-huh!” Jisung insisted. Then, he relented, “Fine. Tie.”

“Nooope, I won!” Minho assured, walking into the store, leaving no further argument.

The shop smelled sweet, aromas of sugar and tea hanging in the air, the loud groaning sound of the automatic shaker-machine filling the space. They approached the counter, Minho ordering plain milk tea with pearls while Jisung got jasmine green milk tea, also with pearls. Jisung, as punishment for losing the race, paid for both their orders, and they wandered off to the side to wait.

“Oh, shit. Hey guys,” said a voice from behind. Jisung turned to see Chan, wearing plaid pajama pants and slides, both hands in the pocket of his hoodie. The bottoms of his pants were bunched up at his heels, indicating they were a tad too long for him. Next to him stood Hyunjin, mid-yawn, his bedhead atrocious, wearing the same thing he was wearing the day before—ratty grey sweats and an oversized black long-sleeved top. 

“Oh. Hey,” Jisung greeted them, shocked. “What the fuck are you guys doing here? And are those Hyunjin’s PJ’s?”

Hyunjin sighed softly, resting his head on Chan’s shoulder. “We’re here to buy bubble tea. Channie promised he’d get me some in exchange for me having sex with him.”

Jisung stalled. “Wait, really?”

“No, I’m fucking with you,” Hyunjin scoffed, moving away from Chan and rolling his eyes. “He’s wearing my pajamas because he slept over, totally _platonically_ , and we felt like boba, so here we are.”

Jisung jiggled his head, shaking off his startlement. Minho approached and wrapped an arm around Jisung’s hips, sticking his hand in the singular back-pocket of his sweats. He jerked his chin at Chan. “You’re going to Dawson’s party tonight, right?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t miss it,” Chan confirmed.

Jisung glanced between the two of them. “Huh? Who’s having a party tonight?”

Minho chuckled softly. “Our friend, Dawson. It’s his birthday today, so he’s hosting a little get-together. Y’know, clubs, bars, the like. I’d invite you, but, I don’t think it’d be your scene.”

Jisung took a step back, mildly offended. “What’s that mean, ‘not my scene’?”

Before Minho could answer, Chan chimed in, “Dawson’s gay. So is everyone else who’s gonna be there. Or, at least, they’re all not-straight.”

“So?” Jisung quipped.

“ _So_ , if you spent a whole night with a bunch of gay men, I think your head would explode,” Minho finished. “I know you think you’re ‘one of us’ because you and I are involved, but I don’t think you’re ready for that yet.”

“I think I am,” Jisung insisted, defensively. “You and Chan will be there, right?”

Minho nodded. “Yeah, and Changbin and Felix. And Hayden.”

Jisung whistled. “A bunch of my friends will be there. And you. I can totally handle it. Even if you guys weren’t there, I still could. Besides, how will I ever be ‘ready’ if you don’t expose me to it?”

Minho hummed, considering. “You really want to come?”

“Yeah! I mean, if I’m not, like . . . intruding, or anything,” Jisung said, shrugging.

“Okay,” Minho sighed. “I guess this is it. Your gay-initiation. Initi- _gay_ -tion.”

Jisung smiled happily. He hadn’t yet decided _what_ he was—if he was gay, bisexual, hetero-flexible, or whatever—but, other than his close circle, he didn’t have other queer friends, and he didn’t know much of anything about the LGBTQ+ community or culture. He figured it would be exciting, and educational, for him to spend a night like this, with Minho and other queer men, to learn more about what it was like, what their experiences were. He also figured that if he was _ever_ to decide what he was, this would be a good place to start.

Hyunjin bounced on his heels, giddy. “Hey, can I come, too?”

Minho looked blankly at him. “What warrants _you_ coming?”

“I might find my Prince Charming,” Hyunjin answered simply, smiling. It was hard to tell if he was being serious or not.

Minho shrugged. “Whatever. It’s up to Chan. Each person is allowed to bring a Plus-One, and mine’s Jisung.”

“Channie?” Hyunjin asked sweetly, giving him those puppy-dog eyes again.

Chan didn’t, or couldn’t, look at Hyunjin directly, so he looked at his feet instead, mumbling, “Yeah, sure, you can come.”

“Yay!” Hyunjin celebrated, throwing his arms up.

One of the employees called out a bubble tea order—one strawberry-kiwi slush and one oat milk with brown sugar pearls—and placed two cups on the counter. Chan gestured to them and said, “Oh, those’re ours.”

Chan and Hyunjin collected their teas and bid farewell, with promise to see them later at the party. Minho and Jisung waited until their order came, then left the shop, finding a bench outside to sit on. They discussed menial topics, like the reasons why Minho was the proud owner of three cats and how Jisung found an interest in rapping and hip-hop. Minho told stories of his early days as a dancer, and Jisung listened intently, chewing on his tapioca pearls. Once their bubble teas were emptied, they raced back home, Jisung managing to redeem himself by just-barely beating Minho to the apartment door, as much as Minho hated to admit his defeat.

***

It was close to six o’clock in the evening, and they were getting ready to head to the party, which apparently would be starting at a bar called The Varnish in downtown Los Angeles. They would be hitching a ride with Chan and Hyunjin, who had yet to arrive, meaning they were running late. Minho had told Jisung to dress in ‘cocktail-casual,’ and while he didn’t exactly know what that meant, he managed to throw together something that _looked_ like that description. He wore a thin white t-shirt with a crew neck and a waist-length black blazer over top, with belted darkwash blue jeans and his classic platform Doc Martens. He styled his hair and gave himself a once-over in the mirror, pleased with what he saw.

He walked out to the living room, finding Minho on the couch waiting for him. He wore a grey blazer over a white button-up, with slim black jeans and black Chelsea boots. He stood up upon sight of Jisung, scanning him up and down with a vague expression, then giving him a warm smile.

“How do I look?” Jisung asked, holding his arms out and spinning around.

“You look good,” Minho answered honestly. Then he made a sound, and quickly dropped to his knees in front of Jisung, rolling up the bottoms of his jeans. He stood up and nodded curtly. “Perfect. I knew there was something missing.”

Jisung’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he checked it to find a text from Chan, saying that he was outside. They collected their things and left the apartment, climbing into Chan’s truck parked out front, where Hyunjin had taken control of the AUX cord and was playing some old American rock classic. Chan turned onto the road and began the short drive to the bar, parking out front, but before Jisung could get out, Minho grabbed his sleeve.

“I want to give you a fair warning. Dawson’s nice, but some of the other guys can be some foul sons of bitches,” Minho said. “They all mean well, of course, and they’re all kind at heart, but . . . y’know. Prepare to hold your own, is all I’m saying.”

Jisung chuckled softly. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I’ve been best friends with the foulest son-of-a-bitch of all for most of my life, remember.”

Hyunjin turned in his seat and gave him a coy, and slightly scathing, glare. “And who might that be, hmm?”

Jisung leaned forward and booped his nose. “Why, none other than you, of course.”

Hyunjin grinned. “I hold the title proudly.”

They got out of the truck and waited while Chan paid for parking, then walked into the bar. It was a dimly-lit, 1920’s-style speakeasy that was bustling with guests, all dressed to the nines and sipping on fancy cocktails. Jisung felt like he’d just walked into an old-timey, black-and-white mafia film, set in New York and directed by Ridley Scott. He also felt like he did not even moderately compare to the upscale, business-sleek gentlemen surrounding him, all suited up with ties and stinking of cologne, looking like they’d just walked out of an office or a courtroom. Even Hyunjin was dressed better than him, in a brown suit jacket and pants, with a white t-shirt and his hair tied in a bun.

“Dawson! Happy birthday, man!” Chan called out. Due to the crowd, it was unclear who he was referring to, until a tall man with dark skin and buzzed hair turned around in his booth, flashing a blindingly-white smile.

“Hey, Chris! Hey, Reno! Glad you guys could make it!” Dawson stood up and gave each of them a short half-hug. Then, he looked between Hyunjin and Jisung, and wondered, “Who’re these fine men you’ve brought with you?”

“This is Peter,” Minho introduced him, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“And this is Sam,” added Chan, clapping Hyunjin on the shoulder.

Someone came up behind them and swung their arms around Chan and Jisung, startling Jisung enough that he stumbled forward a step. It was Felix, with Changbin in tow, and the two of them were greeted with a chorus of ‘Hello’s and ‘How are you’s. 

“It’s nice to meet you Peter, Sam,” Dawson said. He then pointed out all the men sitting at the booth one-by-one, introducing them. “This is Hayden, Tanner, Sawyer, Alex, Sean, Micah, Andre, and Casey.”

Jisung felt dizzy. He’d known what he was getting into, but this was certainly a _lot_ of unfamiliar faces, and a lot of names. He mumbled, “I’ve met Hayden before, briefly.”

Hayden grinned at him. He was as dressed-up as always, in a floral button-up and a black blazer that was undeniably more expensive than the one Jisung wore, and he had his hair styled exquisitely, sparkly earrings dangling down the sides of his neck. He waved flirtatiously at Jisung, murmuring, “Indeed we have. Hey Peter.”

Jisung felt Minho’s grip on his waist tighten, but his face revealed no emotion. Dawson gestured to the booth and said, “Come on, have a seat and we’ll order a round.”

It was a fairly large circular booth, but they were still all squished together, almost shoulder-to-shoulder. A man with light brown hair and hazel eyes, whom Dawson had pointed out to be Tanner, leaned forward with his hands clasped together on the table in front of him and gave Jisung and Hyunjin a leering gaze. 

“So, how do you guys know Chris and Reno?” he asked levelly, in a searching manner. “As in, what are your relationships?”

Chan chuckled lightly, touching Hyunjin’s shoulder again. “We’re just friends. He wanted to come for . . . unknown reasons, so I brought him.”

Tanner accepted that response with a nod, then turned his attention to Jisung and Minho. They glanced at one another, awkward, unsure of the answer to that question themselves, shifting in their seats.

“We’re all gay here, guys, it’s fine,” said one of the others, a man with dark hair and eyes, whom Dawson had called Sean. 

Minho cleared his throat apprehensively, shaking his shoulders. “Peter and I are also just friends. Friends . . . who fuck. A lot.”

Jisung stifled a cheeky smile at that. However, while he felt the description of their relationship was accurate, there came a certain pang of emotion upon hearing those words from Minho, but he couldn’t place exactly what emotion it was. It was the best and probably only way to describe what they were—friends who fuck. Still, there was a part of Jisung that felt deeply that wasn’t enough, that there was or should be more to it, but he couldn’t say exactly what ‘more’ he wanted, and this was neither the time nor place to think about it.

“I see. So Jamie’s gone with the wind, huh?” Tanner guessed.

Jisung felt Minho tense up, his back straightening and his jaw clenching. He muttered, “Yeah. He’s been out of my life for a while, now.”

“Good riddance,” Hayden scoffed, loudly. “That guy was a piece of work. I don’t know what you were doing, wasting your time with him.”

“I don’t know either,” Minho said quietly, darkly. Jisung glanced at him, studying his face. It was clear to see that Jamie was a sensitive subject, one that Minho was hesitant to bring up, and reluctant to speak much about. Jisung was, of course, glad that Jamie was gone from Minho’s life—for more than just one reason—but he had a dubious feeling about that, that perhaps while he was _physically_ gone, the trouble he’d caused was not.

The conversation was dropped when a waitress came around to take their drink orders. While they awaited their cocktails, Jisung learned more about these new acquaintances. He learned that they all attended UCLA, and most of them were artists in some capacity—Hayden studied fashion, Tanner studied beauty and makeup, Andre studied music, and Alex studied digital art—except for Dawson, who was taking architecture, Sawyer, who was in criminology, and Casey, who took politics. Micah knew Chan through their shared performing arts major, and Sean had met Chan when he hired him as an actor for a film project a couple years back. It dawned on Jisung that Chan really knew _everybody_ , as the number of people who’d not met nor heard of him were a sparse few.

“Before you guys start interviewing us some more,” Hyunjin began, sipping on his Irish whiskey cocktail, “I want to know something. Out of curiosity, how do you all identify? Like, gay, bi, pan, etcetera?”

“Don’t mind him. He likes to ask a lot of personal questions,” Jisung explained with a snarky eye-roll. “Once he finishes that drink he’ll start asking about your sex lives.”

Hayden bobbed his head approvingly at that. “I think we’d get along quite well, Sam. Anyway, to answer your question, I am a through-and-through, one-thousand percent, bona-fide homosexual. Always have been.”

Tanner snorted. “Yeah. Hayden’s gayer than me, and that’s _saying_ something.”

“I’m gay as well. I only recently came out,” said Sean, stirring his drink with his straw. “I was sort of in denial for a long time, blaming my lack of attraction to women on the women themselves. It took me getting to college and meeting these guys to finally admit the problem was me, not the girls.”

Changbin made a sound. “Almost the same story, here. I denied my sexuality all through high school, and when I did start sleeping with guys, I kept quiet about it. I just came out to my friends a couple weeks ago, actually. I’m still not out to my family, even though I . . . have a boyfriend.”

Chan, Hyunjin, Jisung, and Minho all looked, shocked, down the table at him, with wide eyes and hanging jaws. Felix smiled bashfully, looking at his lap, his ears turning pinkish.

“No way, you guys made it official?” Chan wondered, his voiced pitched higher with endearment.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Felix replied with a shrug. “He asked me if I wanted to be ‘exclusive’ after we got back from Trinidad, and I said yes.”

Hyunjin clapped proudly. “Congrats, fellas. Everyone, a toast! To Lewis and Felix, hip-hip-hooray!”

Everyone lifted their glasses in the air before taking a sip from them. Then, Dawson piped up, “Alright, hey, this is _my_ birthday party. Don’t go stealing my spotlight.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Hyunjin apologized, “go on, then.”

Dawson smiled. “I’m gay, and I have a boyfriend as well. We’ve been going steady for . . . almost three years, now. Unfortunately, he’s interning at a film set tonight, so he couldn’t be here. We’ll be celebrating privately later.”

A chorus of ‘ooooh’s spread around the table, and Dawson rolled his eyes. All this talk about boyfriends and steady relationships was making a strange mix of emotions bubble in Jisung’s stomach. In a way, he was happy for Changbin and Felix, and he was happy for Dawson even though they’d just met. He was also pleased to know that two men could have happy, healthy, long-lasting relationships—he’d always assumed that was the case, but it still felt good to know it for sure. 

On the other hand, it made him feel increasingly worse about what Minho had said before, how Minho had labeled their relationship, as ‘friends who fuck.’ He didn’t feel that was encompassing enough for the way he felt about Minho, for the way he felt about their relationship. He wanted them to have something more, something like what Changbin and Felix had, something like what Dawson had with his boyfriend. He imagined what that might be like, three years or even longer down the road, if he was still with Minho, if they were ‘exclusive,’ if they were ‘official,’ and for the first time in his life, he felt completely and unconditionally content with that. He wanted that.

“As for me, I’m actually bi,” said Micah, a guy with a sharp chin and hair even longer than Hyunjin’s, which he wore down, tumbling in waves over his shoulders.

“Same here,” said Casey, a blond with hair that stuck up in a triangle-shape above his forehead and strikingly bright, blue eyes. “I have a girlfriend right now, it’s a new relationship but I’m happy with her.”

Tanner playfully nudged Casey, his mouth quirking in a half-smile. “I’ve met her, she’s a real gem. You better not break her heart, at least not before I’ve made her my best friend.”

Casey snorted. “All right, I’ll try.”

Alex, a guy with curly brown hair and five-o’clock shadow, the sleeves of his loose blazer rolled up to show off his forearm tattoos, spoke up next. “I’m pansexual. Gender isn’t really a factor for me. I have a boyfriend, we’re approaching our one-year anniversary.”

“Hey, cheers. I’m pan too,” said Chan, lifting his glass and tapping it lightly against Alex’s. 

“Thank God for that,” Alex went on. “I’m the only frying pan at this table, and I’ve never met another pan guy. I think we’d get along.”

Chan smiled warmly. “I agree.”

“As for me, I identify as queer. I don’t really like labelling myself, makes me feel tied down,” continued Sawyer, who had dirty-blonde hair and a light dusting of freckles. “I’ve been single for a while, not looking for a relationship right now.”

“I’m also queer,” related Andre, a guy with dark skin and hair twisted into cornrows. “I’ve been seeing someone lately, but it’s so fresh I wouldn’t call it a ‘relationship’ just yet.”

Jisung sputtered, holding up a finger and shaking his head. “Hold on, pause. I’m sorry if this is an ignorant question, but what exactly does ‘queer’ mean?”

Andre inhaled deeply, thinking of a way to explain it. “That’s not an ignorant question at all. I guess it sort of means ‘undefined.’ It’s like an umbrella term. As for me, I know I’m not straight, but I don’t feel like labelling myself as anything specific, so I use queer.”

Jisung’s lips parted slightly, and he leaned back, a lightbulb going off in his head. He’d been wondering exactly what he should call himself, and it’d been wringing him dry for weeks, as he couldn’t decide which label fit him best. ‘Straight’ no longer felt right considering his feelings for Minho, but ‘gay’ was also inaccurate considering his history with women. ‘Bisexual’ was a possibility, but he couldn’t commit to it, as he didn’t know if he had an attraction to men in general or just Minho. Now a new word had come along, one that was both all-encompassing and nonspecific, one that he could easily switch out for something else later on if he wished, but could also just as easily stick with for the rest of his life. _Queer_. He felt a glow in his chest, and he smiled to himself.

“What about you guys, then?” asked Tanner. “Chris just said he’s pan, and I know Reno’s gay, but what about the rest of you?”

“Gay,” Changbin answered simply, lifting a hand.

“Bi, here,” said Felix, promptly fist-bumping Micah and Casey.

Hyunjin shrugged. “Questioning.”

Jisung glanced suspiciously at Hyunjin, raising an eyebrow, but Hyunjin didn’t meet his gaze. It was then that Jisung noticed all eyes had turned to him, as he was the last to respond, and for a second, his throat closed up. Was this it? Was this him . . . _coming out_?

Minho chuckled and jiggled his shoulders. “I don’t think Peter knows, yet—”

Jisung gulped and interrupted, “A-Actually, I think I decided just now. I liked the term ‘queer.’ So, I guess, uh, that’s it. I’m queer.”

Andre and Sawyer both reached out for high-fives, which Jisung gladly returned. Minho was looking at him with raised eyebrows, but said nothing. Chan clapped him on the shoulder encouragingly, and Changbin and Felix both smiled at him. 

“Ayy! Our Peter officially came out!” Hyunjin rejoiced, lifting his drink again. “Three cheers for Peter, hip-hip-hooray!”

Everyone at the table lifted their glasses, and Jisung stood up and did a sarcastic bow. Dawson shook his head and sighed, “Gosh, you guys are really the primo scene-stealers, aren’t you?”

The party went on until they’d each drank two cocktails, save for Chan, Micah, and Alex, who were the night’s designated drivers. As conversation continued, it started to flow better, as they all grew more comfortable with one another, to the point where Jisung began getting mercilessly roasted by Hayden and Tanner over petty things, like the fact that he didn’t know who Lizzo was and he couldn’t name any Beyoncé songs besides _Halo_. It didn’t bother him, though, as he gave as much as he got, and when Hyunjin dared to join in on Hayden and Tanner’s mockery of him, he was quickly shut down by Jisung bringing up the time he caught him listening to country music unironically. 

Once the conversation started to die down, Alex stood up from his seat and stretched his arms out with a groan. He said, “Well, I’m gonna pop out for a smoke. Anyone care to join?”

Jisung, Minho, Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, Micah, and Sean all got up and followed him outside to the sidewalk, gathering by the curb to be as far from the door as possible. Alex shared cigarettes from his pack with Sean, Micah, and Minho, while Chan gave one of his to Hyunjin and Changbin gave one to Jisung. Micah passed his lighter around, and they all took their first drags, letting the pungent smoke drift from their lips and float up into the clear night sky.

“I thought you were quitting, Reno,” said Hyunjin, gesturing to him. “Isn’t that what you bought the vape for?”

Minho took another drag and blew it out with a satisfied expression. “Old vices die hard. The vape is helping me cut down, but truly nothing beats a good old-fashioned cigarette. It’ll probably be a while before I quit for good.”

Hyunjin seemed to understand that answer, accepting it with a slow nod. Chan leaned across the circle to smack Changbin on the shoulder, hard enough that he stumbled a little to the side, and he gushed, “So, you put the lock down on little Lixie, eh? Good man! He’s a wise choice.”

Changbin smirked shyly and looked away. He glanced behind himself to make sure Felix hadn’t followed them out, and he murmured, “Yeah, I . . . I really like him. It’s not just about the sex anymore, he . . . he makes me happy, and when I realized that, I knew I had to keep him close to me.”

Jisung glanced to his left, at Minho, who wasn’t looking back at him. Instead, Minho was studying the burning end of his cigarette intently, and it was unclear if he was deep in thought or simply zoning out. Jisung watched the way shadows danced on his skin, mixed with the lights of the city and the orange glow of the embers, and he felt himself get lost in the sight. He knew it, deep in his chest, he knew it wasn’t just about the sex. It never really was.

“Felix is really one of the best people I’ve ever met. I’m happy for you both,” Chan said earnestly. Then, his tone darkened. “But know this. He’s a fragile guy, and if you _dare_ break his heart, I’ll be at your doorstep before you can say ‘I’m sorry.’”

Changbin laughed lightly and gave a thumbs-up. “I hear you, Chris, loud and clear. Breaking his heart would break mine. I’ll be doing everything in my power to keep that from happening. I want him to be happy, always.”

The words they were saying were passing through one of Jisung’s ears and out the other. He was still staring at Minho, still watching the light reflect off his face, still captured in the awe and wonder of his entire being. Changbin’s honest feelings mirrored his own. He wanted Minho to be happy, he wanted to be the one to _make_ him happy, and if he ever did anything to hurt Minho he’d never forgive himself. He felt that cascading, crumbling sensation of falling again, falling into the abyss of the unknown, a shadowy chasm of a four-letter word he’d never before felt in this capacity—the path untreaded, the road not taken. It was scary, but it was a wonderful kind of fear.

“So, Peter, Reno,” Sean piped up, grabbing both their attention. “You said you’re ‘friends who fuck.’ How long have you been seeing each other?”

Jisung looked at Minho, and this time, Minho looked back. The answer was a little uncertain. So much had happened over a relatively short span of time, and they’d danced around one another for so long that it was hard to remember when it had officially begun, if it ever really had. There was no clear beginning, and thankfully, no foreseeable end, the timeline of their involvement muddied by the murky waters of words left unsaid.

“It’s . . . hard to say, really,” Minho finally mumbled, breaking from Jisung’s gaze to face Sean. “We’ve been roommates for, like, eight months, but we only started being intimate, what, like a week ago?”

Jisung stepped back, startled. Only a week? That couldn’t be right. It had felt like so much longer than that. “Really? That recently?”

“Yeah,” Minho confirmed, chuckling. “I mean, kinda. Maybe more like a week-and-a-half. ‘Cause it was definitely late October when I blew you for the first time, and it’s not even Halloween yet.”

Jisung stared off into space, feeling winded, bamboozled. Minho had become such a huge presence in his life, filling his every breath and powering his every step, that it felt like he’d been there all along, like he was a deep-rooted and long-standing ache in his heart. Yet, he’d only first realized his crush on Minho during their trip to Escondido, and that had been in early October. They’d been involved for only about a week or so, and already, Minho had become the most important thing to him, he’d taken over his every thought, like a demon possessing his body. It was shocking how fast it had all happened, after the weeks of pining that had felt like years, for him to be this far-gone in so short of a time frame, it was unreal. 

For a moment, he thought maybe he’d been getting ahead of himself, wanting to go further with Minho when they’d barely scratched the surface of all they could do together—their relationship was really, at this point, only the tip of the iceberg, so perhaps he should take a step back and let it flow, rather than rushing into something so fresh and so new, so undiscovered. That being said, Changbin and Felix had been together about the same amount of time, and they had already taken it to the next level. He wondered what would be wisest to do next, and if this was even worth worrying about. There were so many questions, so much uncertainty, that perhaps he needed longer to think. Rushing things would only make the impact more devastating, anyway.

“Oh, so pretty new, eh?” Sean mused. “Well, how’s it been so far?”

Minho glanced at Jisung again with a smile. “It’s been good. He’s a marvel in bed, so I’m definitely happy where we are.”

Again, Jisung had mixed feelings about that statement. He was pleased that Minho was happy, as he himself was happy, and he wanted Minho to be happy, too—always. However, it also made him worry that Minho wouldn’t be happy if their relationship was any different, if Jisung wanted them to take the next step. Perhaps Minho wanted them to stay like this, as they were, as ‘friends who fuck,’ and while Jisung was fine with that for now, he didn’t know how long that contentment would last.

Suddenly, the door to the bar opened behind them. They turned to see Dawson leading the rest of the party, and as they got closer, all remaining cigarettes were tossed and stamped out. Felix walked up to Changbin and the two intertwined their fingers, grinning at one another. Jisung watched them, and his eyes wandered. He looked at Minho’s hand, hanging lonely at his side. For a second, he reached out, but ultimately stopped himself, sticking his hand in the front pocket of his jeans instead.

“Well, boys, onto the next stop?” Dawson suggested, thrusting a thumb out to his right.

Jisung looked at him, confused. “There’s a ‘next stop’?”

Dawson breathed out a short laugh. “You thought the party was over? It’s not even ten o’clock. We’re going to a club next, there’s a drag show happening at Precinct.”

He had been told that the gays knew how to party, but no matter how often he was reminded, it caught him off-guard every time. Dawson led the group down the street, several blocks away, where the sidewalk got progressively busier, troves of people lined up for neighbouring bars and clubs. They arrived at their apparent destination, halting at the back of a lineup leading into a club that pumped with bass-heavy music, and while they waited, Jisung watched many of them doing last-minute touch-ups to their outfits. Minho undid the top three buttons of his shirt, Chan ruffled his hair so it fell over his forehead, and Felix took his blazer off. Jisung looked down at his own clothes, wondering what he could do to improve them, but was at a loss.

Minho seemed to notice his strife, and gave him a teasing smile. He called out, “Hey, Felix, would you mind donating a piece of jewelry to a queer in need?”

“Sure, which one?” Felix asked, showing off his bracelet, necklace, and earrings.

“Mm, this’ll do,” Minho decided, circling around behind Felix to undo the clasp of his dainty, gold necklace. “Thank you, good sir. You have a kind soul.”

“Yeah, but make sure I get it back after,” Felix muttered.

Minho went behind Jisung and fastened the necklace around him, then came to stand in front of him, observing his handiwork. “Perfect.”

Jisung tried to look down to see, but he couldn’t get a good angle on it, so he had to trust Minho’s word. He wasn’t much for accessorizing, aside from slapping on a watch every once in a while, and he’d never worn much jewelry—he didn’t even have his ears pierced. But, even though he couldn’t properly see it, he realized the necklace was an improvement on his overall look, as he could feel the cold metal against his collarbones, could feel it wrap around his neck. He thought, maybe, he should invest in some nice accessories, as although they were small, they did wonders to complete an outfit.

After what was a long and arduous wait, they were allowed into the club, and instantly, Jisung was overwhelmed, possibly more than he’d been the first time he’d visited Back Door. There were no dancers—at least, as much as he could tell so far—but the whole place brimmed with an energy Jisung had never experienced, purple and pink lights painting the crowd on the dance floor. The bartenders were scantily-clad, topless with black waistcoats and short jean shorts, and the walls were covered with vulgar slogans, including a heart with the word ‘SLUT’ spray-painted across it and a rainbow poster that said ‘Candyass: Save a Lollipop - Suck a Dick.’ Heavy rock-and-roll music blasted from the speakers, and there were bodies clamoring together around the stage, where a woman in a sparkly bodysuit and matching thigh-high boots was dancing up a storm, lip-syncing along to the words. As they got closer, however, Jisung slowly realized it wasn’t a woman after all. It was a drag queen.

They gathered at a table towards the back of the crowd, and as Felix, Hyunjin, and Minho started cheering for the performer, Dawson disappeared to summon them more drinks—save for, again, the designated drivers. Jisung was baffled by the whole display at first, but the longer he watched the show, the more he found himself thoroughly enjoying it. The drag queen could dance far better than he could ever dream to himself, and she lip-synced so convincingly it was as if she was singing live. More than that, though, she had a charisma and a charm about her that captured the attention of the whole room, her facial expressions and her gaze hexing. Jisung thought he could learn more than a few things from her.

As the show went on, and as Jisung drank more and more, he started to cheer as loud as his friends, letting himself go, letting himself enjoy something new and foreign, finding it released an energy within him like he’d never felt before. This place was different from anywhere he’d ever been, and yet, he’d never felt more like he belonged somewhere. This club, these people that surrounded him—both his friends and the crowd of strangers—it was all a community, it carried a sense of family and togetherness, as while they may all identify differently, they were each one and the same. Jisung, too. He’d decidedly come out as a queer man, and nothing had ever felt so right. 

When the performance was over, the club erupted in whooping and hollering, and the drag queen knelt by the edge of the stage to collect tips from the audience. Jisung left his empty drink glass on the table and shoved his way to the front, digging into his pocket to pull out a ten-dollar bill and hold it up, hoping it was enough to show his admiration. The queen took it with a smile, winking at him, and he felt his insides do a little flip, like he’d been noticed by a celebrity.

He slowly made his way back to his friends, shaking off his excitement. “Whoo, that was so cool! What’s her name? I’m gonna follow her on Instagram.”

Minho made a dubiously disgruntled face. “Why? You like drag, now?”

“I’ve never seen a performance like that! I don’t know, I just think she’s cool,” he blabbered. Minho moved closer to him, sticking himself to Jisung’s side. Jisung sensed a certain negative aura coming off him, almost as if he was jealous.

Dawson chuckled. “Her name’s Seancé Knowles. Instagram is seance-underscore-knowles.”

Jisung typed it into his phone to remember for later. As he did so, he mumbled, “Huh. Funny name.”

“It’s a pun on the words ‘seance’ and ‘Beyoncé,’ _duh_ ,” scoffed Hayden, rolling his eyes dramatically.

“Oh. Okay. Then what’s ‘Knowles’?” Jisung asked dumbly.

Tanner slapped a palm to his forehead. “It’s Beyoncé’s last name? Hello? Jesus, you’re hopeless.”

Jisung shrugged, too buzzed to care about their irritation. It was then that the club’s music came back on, blasting from the ceiling and shaking the ground, and it took Hyunjin less than two seconds to take the bun out of his hair and start grooving to the sound, throwing his head so his blonde locks flew around, almost hitting Jisung in the face. The group migrated to the dance floor, jiggling their bodies in mindless and uncoordinated ways, except for the three dancers, who, as usual, tore it up. Changbin jumped about next to Felix, cheering enthusiastically and pretending to make it rain, while Chan got up next to Hyunjin and they moved together, arms around each other’s shoulders, circling their hips in unison. Minho made a motion to lure Jisung in, miming pulling on a rope, and Jisung gravitated towards him, until they were hip-to-hip and chest-to-chest, grinding together, Jisung’s hands on Minho’s shoulders while Minho’s arms wrapped around Jisung’s waist. 

They got lost in it, in the movement of their bodies, in the buzz of the alcohol and the bone-breaking bass, and in that moment, Jisung realized he’d been wrong before, if only slightly. _This_ was where he belonged. In Minho’s arms, with him, next to him. The environment and the people around them didn’t matter. As long as he was with Minho, no matter where on Earth they were, he was home.

Roughly two hours and three more drinks later, they were stumbling back out to the sidewalk, giggling and fighting to stay upright. Hyunjin, drunk off his ass as usual, was leaning almost his whole weight on Chan to avoid falling over and to walk in some semblance of a straight line, while Felix and Changbin were holding hands and skipping ahead because, according to them, ‘skipping is easier than walking.’ Jisung and Minho leaned on one another, arm-in-arm, swerving left and right across the sidewalk, almost veering into traffic _several_ times. Once they’d reached the first stoplight, Hayden took out his phone and started playing a song, out loud, one Jisung had never heard before but Minho and Felix got very excited about.

“ _I do my hair toss, check my nails, baby how you feelin’_?” Minho sang along, off-key, his words slurred so much they were barely coherent.

“ _Feelin’ good as Hell_!” Felix went next, attempting to hit the high note and failing completely, as it came out more like a screech.

The light turned green and they began walking again, Jisung attempting to steer Minho as he got away from him, singing, “ _Whoo, child, tired of the bullshit, go on, dust your shoulders off, keep it movin’_.”

Felix, Minho, and Hayden then all screamed together, “ _Yes, Lord! Tryna get some new shit, in there, swimwear, goin’-to-the-pool shit_.”

Jisung had completely lost control of Minho by this point, so he gave up, leaving him to spin around and fling his head, loudly hollering the lyrics, “ _Come now, come dry your eyes, you know you a star you can touch the sky, I know that it’s hard, but you have to try, if you need advice, let me simplify_!”

Minho and Felix leaned close to each other, their noses almost touching, and they dramatically sang together, “ _If he don’t love you anymore, just walk your fine ass out the door_!”

Jisung watched the display with a warm expression, as the two of them danced around and sang the chorus. He muttered, mostly to himself, “I don’t know what’s happening, but it’s entertaining, to say the least.”

“This is that ‘Lizzo’ we’ve told you so much about,” said Tanner.

“Ah. I see,” Jisung nodded, approvingly. It _was_ a good song.

By the time they reached Chan’s truck and said their goodbyes to Tanner and the gang, Minho and Felix had tuckered out, now standing in place groggily, like they might almost fall asleep right there. Alex agreed to drive Changbin and Felix home while Micah was to drive Dawson and the rest. Jisung helped the sleepy Minho climb into the back of Chan’s truck while Hyunjin collapsed in the passenger’s seat, and it was a battle to keep Minho awake for the whole drive home.

Jisung waved farewell to Chan and all but carried Minho up the stairs to their suite, helping him remove his shoes and jacket once they got inside. Minho stripped down to his underwear right in the middle of the living room and left his clothes in a pile on the floor as he wordlessly trudged off to bed. Jisung let him go with an adoring chuckle, then picked his clothes up and followed after him, dropping the articles in his laundry basket. It was only when Jisung was undressing himself that he realized he was still wearing Felix’s necklace, so he placed it carefully on Minho’s desk so he’d remember to return it later.

Once he was in nothing but boxers, he crawled into bed next to the already-fast-asleep Minho, curling his arms around him and tucking his face into his hair, breathing in his scent and letting it lull him to sleep.


	19. Disturbia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> It seems Stella got her groove back, 'cause I'm on a roll these days! It's been difficult finding motivation, nothing new there, but with my sleep schedule (or lack thereof) being all over the place, I have nothing better to do most of the time than write. So, here I am, back with another update! All your amazing comments and intriguing theories have really kept me going. The story is going to be getting prettyyyy interesting from here on out, so I'm excited to see where your minds go! 
> 
> Please let me know what you think of this chapter. It's the much-anticipated Halloween bonanza, and we finally get to see Bunny-Minho! Don't worry, he's not dressed as Leebit (as much as I was TEMPTED to do that.......)
> 
> So, Stray Kids is performing on Kingdom tomorrow. Please, if you haven't already, collect your voting tickets on Whosfan and get ready to vote (TOMORROW, 8PM KST!) Make sure you vote for Stray Kids and two OTHER groups, or your vote will not be counted! We have to support the boys to thank them for everything they've done and continue to do for us. It's the least we can do! Let's go, Stay!
> 
> Anyway, as always, make sure to follow me on Twitter (@/mediochris) and turn my post notifs on to get news, updates, spoilers, and sneak peeks for this story, plus other bonus content. Also, we can be friends! :D I absolutely love interacting with you all <3 I tag all posts related to this story, so make sure to regularly check the #MITS tag so you don't miss anything. Additionally, check out the "Molasses in the Sky" playlists on Spotify, YouTube, and Apple Music. I always update them long before I publish new chapters, so you can get some semblance of the nature of an upcoming chapter before it's released. Links to all three playlists can be found in my pinned thread on Twitter :)
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "Disturbia" by Rihanna!
> 
> Happy reading~

_Ain’t gon’ play nice,_   
_watch out, you might just go under._

The day before, they’d woken up in the mid-afternoon to head-splitting hangovers and had spent most of the early evening sitting like zombies on the couch, munching on dry cereal and drinking enough coffee to kill an infant. Though, despite his obviously less-than-ideal condition, Minho, ever the workaholic, still refused to call in sick, and dutifully showed up for his shift at the club. He’d come home that night in an even more zombie-like state, and had collapsed in his bed still wearing his work clothes, making Jisung have to undress him so he could sleep comfortably.

It was the following morning, and Jisung was slowly rousing from his rest, inhaling the scent of Minho’s pillow. He reached out an arm to find his bedmate, but the sheets beside him were cold, so he peeked open an eye to see Minho had disappeared. He sat up halfway, glancing around the room, noticing quickly that the space was draped in darkness, the curtains drawn across the window to hold the morning sunlight at bay. 

Jisung sat up fully and looked to his right, coming face-to-face with something so terrifying that he nearly jumped as high as Tom from _Tom & Jerry_. It was a pale and horribly-disfigured face, with a hanging mouth that was coming out of its stitching and sunken, bleeding eyes. Jisung screamed embarrassingly high, scurrying backwards until his back hit the wall.

“Boo!” said the face.

Jisung breathed through his trauma, and blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. Behind the face—which, now that he looked at it, was clearly a mask—he was able to make out a white t-shirt and pinstripe pajama pants, two very normal-looking and very human arms held up by its head. Jisung sighed noisily, dropping his face into his palms and rubbing away his terror, then glanced back up as Minho took the mask off and smiled teasingly at him.

“I got you good, didn’t I?” Minho laughed, tossing the mask away and sitting cross-legged on the bed.

“Yeah. Yeah, you did,” Jisung muttered. “I nearly fucking shit myself. That’s certainly _one_ way to wake up.”

Minho snickered and scooched towards him, pulling him in for a short kiss. Then, he exclaimed, “Happy Halloween!”

“Happy Halloween, baby,” Jisung replied, still a little shaken.

Minho got up and made for the bedroom door, turning around once to say, “I’ll get breakfast started.”

“Okay. No more pranks! Gonna give me a goddamn heart attack,” Jisung warned, and Minho waved a hand at him as if to say, ‘Yeah, yeah.’

Minho disappeared into the hallway, and soon after Jisung could hear the clinking of glasses and cupboards opening and closing coming from the kitchen. He got up out of bed, throwing on a sweater and track pants, and just as he was about to leave the room, he noticed the mask that Minho had left discarded on the floor. An idea struck him.

He picked it up and put it on, inhaling a pungent plastic-rubber smell mixed with the stench of Minho’s morning breath. He crept out of the room, sneaking his way down the hall and into the living room, tip-toeing into the kitchen and silently approaching Minho, who had his back turned away from him.

“Boo!” he hollered.

Minho turned around nonchalantly and gave him a look. “I knew you would do that. Gonna have to try harder to scare me.”

Jisung pouted and took the mask off, placing it on the kitchen counter. “No fair. You’re not scared of anything.”

“Sure I am,” Minho objected, shrugging, “but you’re not gonna get me with my own tricks. You’ll think of something, though, I’m sure.”

Minho left the Keurig running while he put a pan on the stove, heating it up and cracking a few eggs into it. Jisung left him to his devices and wandered away to sit on the couch. He checked his phone absently, and found a couple texts from Hyunjin.

10월 31일, 10:01 오전  
찬이형의 집으로 와라!!! (Come to Channie’s house!!!)  
이제 파티를 시작할 시간이야 (It’s time to get this party started)

Jisung made a sound upon reading the messages, and quickly typed out a response.

10월 31일, 10:13 오전  
파티? (Party?)  
오전 10시야? (It’s 10 A.M.?)

Minho returned from the kitchen with two cups of coffee and a plate full of scrambled eggs, setting them down on the living room table before sitting beside Jisung and reading over his shoulder.

“Are we going to Chan’s?” he asked.

“I guess so,” Jisung mumbled. “Halloween parties won’t be starting up for a few hours, anyway.”

His phone vibrated again, so he looked down to read the message.

10월 31일, 10:15 오전  
넌 노인입니까? 할로윈이야! (Are you an old man? It’s Halloween!)  
빨리 와라 (Come quickly)

Jisung rolled his eyes and sent him a few thumbs-up emojis, then turned his phone off and threw it onto the cushion beside him. He and Minho enjoyed their breakfast together in relative silence, and for once they weren’t bothered by noisy kitties, as the three cats were busy eating their morning serving of wet food. Once the plate and the cups were emptied, they both got up and went to their respective rooms to change. Jisung put on baggy blue jeans and a grey hoodie, sticking a black ball cap on his head in lieu of styling his hair. He put his glasses on and left the room, finding Minho sitting in the foyer tying his shoes, wearing black jeans with a rip in one knee and a blue, vertical-striped button-up. Jisung stuck his feet in chunky white sneakers and they left the apartment, embarking on the several-block walk to Chan’s.

Minho buzzed his suite, and they waited patiently, until Chan’s voice crackled through the speakers. “Yeah?”

Jisung leaned into the intercom and said, in a forced, nasally voice, “Hello, I’m here to deliver a pizza for . . . I.C. Wiener?”

“ _Futurama_ reference, nice,” Chan muttered. “Come in.”

They were let in, and made their way up to Chan’s apartment, knocking on the door. It was Changbin who opened it, and he was wearing dirty grey sweats and looked atrociously tired, his hair sticking up all over the place from a likely-restless night. They strolled in to find Felix sitting on the living room floor with his face buried in his cell phone, and Hyunjin sprawled out on the couch in his teddy-bear pajamas, chewing slowly on a bowl of Cheerio’s and staring at the TV. Straya, Avo, and two open grinders were laid out on the coffee table, and just as they approached, Chan entered from the kitchen carrying a package of Chips Ahoy! cookies and a two-litre bottle of Coke.

“Are we wake-n-baking?” Jisung wondered, sitting on the couch next to Hyunjin.

“Of course we are,” Hyunjin scoffed. “It’s Halloween, that means we legally have to be either drunk or stoned from dawn ‘til dusk. Or, even better, both.”

Jisung looked at him, then tugged on the bottom of his pant leg. “Why are you in your PJ’s?”

“Because I didn’t get dressed this morning?” Hyunjin looked back at him with a ‘Duh’ expression.

Changbin scratched the back of his head and pointed his droopy eyes at Jisung. “You down for a smoke? We got high earlier, but I could use another toke, if you guys want to catch up.”

Jisung shrugged. “Sure.”

He and Minho got up from the couch while Changbin grabbed Straya and one of the grinders. They made their way out to Chan’s balcony and sat down, Minho being the first to take the bowl and fill it with green. Jisung watched him take his hit, watched his neck strain as he breathed in deeply to pull all the smoke into his lungs, watched him lift his head and blow out a huge cloud. There was a certain grace about him that made him look beautiful doing _anything_ , and Jisung was so distracted by it that it took him a minute to catch on when Minho passed him the bong.

“So, did you guys make a final decision on your costumes?” Changbin absently made conversation while picking dirt out from under his nails.

Minho, whose eyes had gotten red already, nodded. “Yep, it’s official. He’s Hugh Hefner and I’m his Bunny. We got our costumes already, but I haven’t shown him mine yet.”

Jisung ripped his hit and blew it out, feeling the weed starting to cloud his brain. He coughed, and said, “He says it’s a ‘surprise.’ How ‘bout you, Bin?”

“My costume’s easy. It’s basically just a suit, with a chest holster and two plastic revolvers. Oh, and a flask, of course,” Changbin explained. Jisung hummed, remembering distantly that Changbin had said he was going as a ‘classic spy.’

“Are we gonna come up with a plan for tonight?” Minho asked while Changbin packed his bowl. “I need to know when to start getting ready, ‘cause it’s gonna take me a _long_ time.”

Changbin smoked his green, then set Straya down in between the three of them. “Hyunjin said something about one of his friends hosting a Halloween party, but I’m not sure when that’ll be. We’ll have to ask when we get in.”

They sat on the balcony for a few minutes longer, enjoying their highs and the brisk outside air, before collecting themselves off the floor and making their way inside. The TV was playing an episode from an old season of _Family Guy_ , Felix was still sitting on the floor in the exact same position he was when they’d left him, Chan was halfway through the package of cookies, and Hyunjin was firmly-situated in Chan’s lap, sipping straight from the two-litre of Coke. Changbin went to sit beside Felix, wrapping an arm around him, while Minho found a spot on the couch and patted his thighs, inviting Jisung to join him. 

Jisung sat in Minho’s lap and let himself be cradled, then turned his head to look at Hyunjin. “Hey, so, what’s the plan for tonight?”

Hyunjin took another two-handed, gulping swig from the Coke bottle, then set it down on the coffee table. “Dallas is hosting a house party, I thought we could turn up there. It starts at seven, but he said we can arrive as early as six.”

“Which means I need to start getting ready by, like, three,” Minho grumbled. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” said Chan, “you’ve got a few hours.”

They spent those few hours consuming garbage TV and eating all the snacks from Chan’s kitchen, and once their highs started to wear off, they began a _Mario Kart_ deathmatch, fighting for blood on Rainbow Road, the loser being punished by having to host the after-party. After a gruelling, back-and-forth, two-hour match, it was Chan who ultimately lost, and he hung his head in defeat.

“Wow, Channie actually _lost_ a competition. Even _I_ beat him!” Hyunjin exclaimed.

Felix, the overall winner, snickered. “Yeah, buddy, what happened there?”

“Listen. I’m good at _physical sports_. Video games are another story,” Chan muttered defensively.

By that time, it was nearly three-o’clock, so Jisung and Minho collected their things and bid a temporary farewell to the group after establishing that Hyunjin would pick them up at six-thirty. They made their way home quickly, and as soon as they got in, Minho shooed Jisung away and demanded he wait on the couch.

“I’m getting ready now, so no peeking!” he warned, pointing a finger.

“Okay, but,” Jisung argued, “my costume’s in my room. I have to get it, first.”

Minho allowed him that, so he scurried into his room to grab the four simple costume pieces, bringing them to the couch with him. Minho disappeared down the hall, and Jisung got dressed in his black silk pajama pants, black button-up shirt, and red-and-black silk robe. The final touch was the white sailor’s hat, which, so he’d been told, was Hugh Hefner’s staple. He didn’t have a mirror, so he looked at himself in the reflection of the TV screen, and he felt he looked as in-character as he could possibly be, considering he was about seventy years too young.

He waited, confined to the living room, for a very long time—so long that he got bored and turned on the TV, watching National Geographic clips on YouTube. He looked through his phone, he played a few mobile games, he even decided to clip his nails—anything to make the minutes go away faster. It was close to six-o’clock when he finally heard what sounded like heels click-clacking up the hall, and he looked up, his jaw nearly dropping to the floor.

“Hey there, Hefner,” Minho whispered.

Jisung forgot to breathe. Minho was standing, leaning against the wall, his legs crossed at his ankles and his hands positioned in a manner that could only be described as ‘sassy,’ one resting across his midsection while the other was bent upwards, his fingertip between his teeth. There was so much to look at that Jisung’s eyes didn’t know where to fall first. Minho’s hair was parted to show his forehead, voluminous and wavy, gelled in place, and atop his head were two bunny ears, one sticking straight up and one bent in half. He had on glittery eye makeup and fluttery lashes, his lips painted a deep wine red, and it looked like he was also wearing foundation and possibly had even done his brows. Around his neck was a wide, white collar and black bow-tie, and his shoulders and most of his chest were bare, shiny with some kind of body highlight. 

Jisung’s gaze wandered further down, to the black bodysuit that hugged Minho’s every curve, his slim waist and slender hips, the top half just barely covering his pecs and the lower half cut like the sluttiest bikini bottoms known to man. Minho’s shapely legs were draped in fishnet stockings, and on his feet were shiny black heels, pointed at the toes. 

“Well?” Minho hummed. His voice was sultry, but Jisung also noticed a hint of insecurity behind his words, like he needed some kind of validation.

Jisung gulped thickly, blinking several times, like he couldn’t believe this was real, that he was really seeing this. He mumbled, “Do I dare ask you to turn around?”

Minho smiled cheekily and slowly turned around, looking back over his shoulder. Jisung’s breath caught in his throat again. The back of the bodysuit was almost nonexistent, only covering Minho’s lower back, meaning most of his spine and his ass were almost entirely exposed, the latter scarcely covered by the fishnets. At his tailbone was a fluffy, white tail, and Minho seemed to enjoy Jisung staring at his behind, because he started hopping up-and-down and shaking his hips, making more than just the tail jiggle.

“Holy . . . shit,” was all Jisung managed to say.

Minho turned around again, rubbing his forearm. “Do you like it?”

Jisung could do nothing but stare. His heart was beating like a drum and his dick was hard enough he could probably cut Mount Everest in half. He slowly stood and approached Minho, breathing raggedly. He whispered, “I . . . This . . . You . . . Is this real? Am I really seeing this?”

Minho took a step closer and gently grabbed his wrist, bringing his hand forward and placing it on his hip. “Touch me. Feel me. It’s all real.”

Jisung placed his other hand on Minho’s other hip and squeezed, pulling him in closer, staring at his face and letting his palms explore his body. They ended up on Minho’s ass, and his breath hitched as he moulded the flesh between his fingers.

Minho brought up a hand to cup the bulge in his silk pajamas, making Jisung hiss. He murmured, “Calm down. We have a party to go to.”

“Well, we still have thirty minutes ‘til Hyunjin gets here, right?” Jisung purred, craning his head to brush his lips against Minho’s neck. “Besides, he’ll probably be late, anyway.”

Minho spun out of Jisung’s grasp and stuck his tongue out, poking Jisung in the nose. “Nuh-uh. It took way too long to get into this outfit, I am _not_ taking it off until the night is over. So tuck your boner away.”

Jisung whined playfully, smirking. “As long as you look like that, it’s not going away. But hey, it fits the character, right?”

“You think Hefner, in his ripe old age, could sustain a boner like that without some kind of pharmaceutical help?” Minho scoffed. “If you carried a bottle of blue pills around with you, _then_ it’d suit the character.”

“Darn, too bad I used up all my Viagra already,” Jisung joked, and Minho snorted a laugh.

Minho spent the next several minutes doing final touch-ups to his hair and makeup, fussing over it so much that Jisung had to take his compact mirror away so he’d stop. Hyunjin texted that he was outside, so they migrated to the foyer, where Jisung put on simple black leather shoes.

As Minho opened the front door, Jisung put out a hand to stop him. “You’re not taking a jacket? Won’t you be freezing?”

“As the great Cardi B once said, ‘A ho never gets cold,’” Minho insisted, wriggling his bare shoulders.

Jisung chuckled and followed him out the door. They found Hyunjin’s car parked out front and climbed in the backseat, and as soon as Hyunjin saw Minho, he turned around, staring at him with his eyes nearly bulging out of his skull.

He said, “Okay, I’m gonna have to get a proper look at you when we get there, but _holy shit_! You look like a whole different person!”

Minho smiled and fluttered his lashes, a hand beneath his chin. Seungmin, who was in the passenger’s seat, was also looking at him with a gaping jaw, and he mumbled, “Yeah, damn. That’s kinda crazy.”

“What about me?” Jisung interjected. “How d’you like my costume?”

Hyunjin glanced at him blankly. “Oh. I didn’t even notice you were wearing a costume.”

Jisung grumbled, but he understood. His pajamas were nothing compared to Minho’s gender-bending, magazine-cover-worthy total knockout. Next to him, Jisung’s costume looked half-assed, like he’d thrown it together last-minute—which, in fairness, he had. Nevertheless, he didn’t mind at all, because that sexy total knockout was _his_ date, _his_ partner for the night, and he wouldn’t trade that for the coolest costume in the world.

They drove to the party, and Jisung remembered the route well, as this was not the first time he’d been to one of Dallas Knightley’s famous ragers. Hyunjin parked half a block away and they exited the car, travelling up the sidewalk to find Chan and the rest waiting by his truck, and they all gathered in a circle to get a look at one another’s costumes.

Chan had on an all-black suit, no tie and the buttons of his shirt undone almost halfway, with a plethora of necklaces and rings. He had fake bites on his neck and fake fangs, with a small trickle of fake blood trailing down one of the corners of his mouth, and he carried with him a glass of what was either red wine or more blood. Changbin’s costume was exactly as he’d described it earlier, a suit-and-tie with plastic revolvers in a chest holster and a flask in his hand. Felix wore tattered, bloodied doctor’s scrubs and a long white coat, goggles on his head and Crocs on his feet, and he’d put white paint on his face and dark circles under his eyes to make himself look sickly. Jeongin was covered head-to-toe in a white sheet, eyeholes cut out so he could see. Seungmin had painted himself greenish and given himself fake scabs and bloody patches, and he wore floppy dog ears and torn clothes. Lastly, Hyunjin was dressed in a policeman’s uniform with the sleeves cut off, a hat on his head and a pair of handcuffs dangling from one wrist.

“Man, we all look great!” Chan exclaimed, glancing around the circle. Then, his eyes rested on Minho. “But, I mean, c’mon, the Bunny is the real MVP of the night. That is a sight to behold.”

Hyunjin took his fake badge out of his pocket and held it up. “However, sex work is illegal, so I’m gonna have to take you in for questioning. Unless . . . you wanted to keep me quiet?”

“I’m sure we could work something out, officer,” Minho mused sweetly, approaching Hyunjin and pressing his body against him, bringing up a leg.

Jisung got in between them. “Hey, hey, that’s enough. You guys are getting _too_ into character.”

Minho wrapped an arm around Jisung and tucked in close to his side, resting his head on his chest. “Unfortunately for you, Mr. Hefner wants me all to himself. Isn’t that right, sir?”

“D-Don’t call me ‘sir,’” Jisung stammered, trying to keep himself from getting hard again with his sheer force of will.

Minho stepped away with a cheeky grin. They went on chattering, complimenting each other’s costumes, deliberating on how drunk they all planned to get that night, when a group of guys came up the sidewalk. As they passed behind them, the man closest to Minho reached over and smacked his butt, while the rest of them whistled and cat-called, snickering amongst themselves as they continued on their way.

Jisung whipped around and shouted, “Hey! Hands to yourselves, you fucking creeps!”

“Jisung, it’s fine, I don’t mind,” Minho insisted calmly, touching a palm to his chest.

“ _I_ mind,” Jisung growled. “God, that’s so disrespectful and gross. Acting like they can just do whatever they want. I’m gonna kick their asses.”

Minho laughed. “Don’t get into a fight over it. I expected that to happen at least once tonight, anyway.”

“Not on my watch. Here, walk in front of me,” Jisung instructed, getting behind Minho and taking him by the hips, leading him into the party. He had hawk-eyes for every wandering hand and every leering gaze that came their way, staring down anyone who got too close.

Hyunjin found Dallas in the living room, next to a bowl of red punch that had eyeball-shaped jawbreakers floating in it. Dallas was dressed like a cowboy, with a wide-brimmed hat and a brown suede jacket with fringe, bedazzled jeans and dirty, spurred boots. They fist-bumped and bro-hugged each other, and Dallas fixed Hyunjin a cup of punch.

“Sick party, man,” said Hyunjin, taking the cup that was handed to him.

“Thanks, dude. Glad you could make it,” Dallas nodded, smiling widely. He scanned the rest of the group, and when he saw Minho, his lips parted slightly, and he twitched an eyebrow, taking a step closer. “Damn, hey there. You look—”

His words halted when he made eye contact with Jisung, who was staring at him like a lion would stare at a baby gazelle. Dallas stepped back and stammered, “I-I, uh, I like your costume.”

Minho, none the wiser of what had just happened, smiled gratefully. Hyunjin waved good-bye to Dallas and they migrated to the kitchen, where the countertops were covered with canned alcoholic beverages and bowls of snacks, free for the taking, and a fierce game of beer pong had ensued on the dining table. They gathered around the island, taking their fill of Cheeto’s and Hey Y’alls, cracking the cans open and cheers-ing before knocking them back.

Minho gulped down his drink and sighed. “I’ve never gotten this much blatant attention from men before. It’s kind of exciting.”

“It’s probably because they think you’re a girl,” Hyunjin pointed out, glancing over at a group of ladies who were all dressed similarly to Minho, in lingerie and various forms of animal ears.

“Yeah. Probably,” Minho murmured, seeming dejected.

Jisung sensed his disappointment, and touched his shoulder comfortingly. “It’s not the attention you want, anyway. They’re just being pigs.”

Minho shook off his dejection. “It doesn’t matter. I feel sexy, so I’m gonna enjoy it while it lasts.”

Jisung didn’t know what to think about that. On one hand, he wanted Minho to be happy, he wanted him to feel good and enjoy himself, and he certainly wasn’t going to be the one to ruin it for him. However, if that meant Minho planned on flirting with every guy at the party, Jisung wasn’t sure he was okay with that. It wasn’t his place to stop it, though—Minho didn’t belong to him, he had no right to be possessive or controlling, and jealousy isn’t a cute look on anyone. Still, they were dressed as Hugh Hefner and a Playboy Bunny; no matter how Jisung looked at it, it was a _couple’s_ costume. They’d come like this _together_ , so he couldn’t help but be bothered by the fact that Minho seemed to want to throw himself at every guy they came across.

“Sam! Is that you?” called a voice from off to the side. They turned to see Olivia entering the kitchen from the back patio doors, a gaggle of girlfriends behind her. She wore what looked like a wedding gown, with a white veil and a bouquet of wilted flowers, blood dripping from her red-lipsticked mouth, staining her chest and the top part of her dress. There were cobwebs and bugs knotted into the tulle of her skirt, and her skin was painted with mud, like she’d just risen from the grave. Yet, somehow, she still looked really pretty.

Hyunjin held out his arms for a gentle hug. “Hey, Liv! Nice costume! What are you, Corpse Bride?”

“I’m an _ex-wife_ ,” she said, smirking and doing air quotes.

“Shit, that’s genius!” Hyunjin complimented.

“Don’t give me too much credit. I stole the idea from _Mean Girls_ ,” Olivia admitted. “Let’s talk about you, LAPD Officer Hwang!”

She trailed a finger down the front of Hyunjin’s uniform, in a way that read as flirtatious but was probably just her way of being friendly. While they went on chattering, Jisung’s attention diverted to the group of friends Olivia had come in with, all standing behind her and looking disinterested. He recognized three of them as Jasmine, Layla, and most notably, Kassidi, who were all dressed like slutty Fairy Godmothers and holding what were likely their third-or-fourth cans of Palm Bay. He thought it was odd that, for once, Kassidi was not throwing herself at Minho, the way she always did before—in fact, she hadn’t even seemed to notice him. It then struck Jisung that, because of his outrageous costume, she probably didn’t even recognize him.

“Anyway, who are your friends?” Olivia was saying. “I think I’ve met a couple of them, right? That one’s . . . Peter! And that’s, I think, Felix?”

Felix grinned. “You’re correct! Nice to see you again.”

Hyunjin started pointing the rest of them out. “That there’s Felix’s boyfriend, Lewis, that’s Chris, that’s Sky, that’s Bobby, and this is Reno, who I’m sure you’ve heard much about.”

Olivia and all of her friends, especially Kassidi, looked at Minho like he’d suddenly grown horns, scanning him up and down. Jasmine piped up, “Wait, _that’s_ Reno Lee?”

“In the flesh,” said Minho, bending one knee and doing a sarcastic curtsy.

“Oh. Um, nice costume,” Olivia mumbled, in a strained way, like she wasn’t sure what to make of it but wasn’t trying to be rude.

Kassidi glanced between Minho and Jisung, then made an expression like a lightbulb had just gone off above her head. “Hold on! You’re . . . a Playboy Bunny, right? And Peter’s supposed to be Hugh Hefner?”

“Yup. Hilarious, right?” Minho confirmed.

Kassidi wasn’t humoured. “So, it’s like, a couple’s costume? I thought you guys were just roommates.”

“We are,” said Jisung, quickly.

“Roommates who are great in the sack,” added Minho, wrapping an arm slyly around Jisung’s waist.

Kassidi gasped, loudly, in a shocked and annoyed way. “You’re gay? Fuck! Why did I waste my time, then? I need another drink.”

And off she went, storming away in the direction of the punch table, Jasmine and Layla following after her. Olivia made an apologetic expression and said, “Sorry about that, Reno. She’s just drunk, she doesn’t mean to offend.”

“None taken,” Minho insisted honestly. “I guess I should’ve told her sooner, let her off easy. It was kind of rude of me.”

Olivia rolled her eyes playfully. “Don’t even worry about it. She’ll have forgotten about you by tomorrow, she’s just being dramatic. Still, I should go after her. Maybe I’ll see you guys around later?”

“Yeah, catch you later.” Hyunjin waved good-bye as she went to find Kassidi. As soon as they were gone, he puffed out his cheeks and exhaled roughly. “Yikes.”

“Well. That was awkward,” Felix commented. “Shall we take this outside? I hear music playing.”

They all agreed with that. Chan left his glass of wine-or-blood on the counter and followed behind the group to the backyard, where a large dance floor had been set up, complete with strobe lights and a DJ playing what sounded like an EDM/Trap remix of _Monster Mash_. This time, there was no one in the pool, as no one at the party was dressed for swimming and even if they were, the water had been drained due to the cold weather. However, when Jisung looked down into the empty pool, he saw Frankenstein’s monster making out with Harley Quinn. He quickly averted his gaze.

They joined the pack of ghouls, goblins, and Victoria’s Secret models on the dance floor and were quickly split up by the force of bodies moving around them, like a sea swallowing up the shore. Hyunjin fastened the open end of his handcuffs around Chan’s wrist and started leading him in a wild, twirly, uncoordinated dance, while Felix and Changbin boogied with a group of Purge girls and Seungmin and Jeongin found community in a zombie horde. Jisung was surprised to find that the four-inch heels on Minho’s feet did not inhibit his ability to dance whatsoever—if anything, they enhanced it, as he dropped it to the floor and sprang up again, turning his back to Jisung and doing body rolls, grinding his behind into Jisung’s crotch. He turned again and wrapped both arms around Jisung’s neck, circling his hips against him all the while staring into his eyes with lustful sensuality, and none of this was helping Jisung keep from getting a boner. Again.

After several songs, Minho got tired and led Jisung away from the crowd, plopping himself down in the grass and taking his heels off momentarily to massage his feet. Chan and Hyunjin joined them, still attached at the wrists, and the other four followed soon after. They went back inside to grab more drinks, and Chan found the glass he’d left on the counter had been emptied, leaving only a red-liquid residue.

“Someone drank my blood,” Chan complained, lifting up the glass and scowling at it.

“Oh. That sucks,” Hyunjin mumbled.

“Sucks for _them_ ,” Chan went on, “it wasn’t drinkable. It was fake blood.”

Hyunjin laughed out loud. “Shit! They were probably too drunk to notice. Oh, well, they’ll find out sooner or later.”

They each grabbed another can of Hey Y’all and wandered over to join the game of beer pong that was still going at the dining table. Once Hyunjin had won three rounds _and_ consumed two more Hey Y’alls, he was, suffice to say, three sheets to the wind, teetering on his feet and giggling at nothing, and Chan had to pull him away every time he tried to reach for more alcohol. It was at that point that they decided they’d had enough of the party and began migrating towards the door, Hyunjin loudly shouting his good-byes to Dallas as they passed him.

They traversed the front lawn, Jisung narrowly avoiding stepping in a puddle of red-tinted vomit hidden in the grass, and they agreed to regroup at Chan’s apartment. Chan took Hyunjin with him in his truck, as they were still joined at the wrist, leaving Jeongin to go with Minho, Jisung, and Seungmin, and because the youngest was the most sober, it was him who took the wheel. They arrived at the apartment building at the same time as Chan and the rest, and they all walked in together, making a combined effort to keep Hyunjin from falling over on the way up.

“Where’s the drinks, Channie?” Hyunjin asked as soon as they got inside.

“ _No_ more alcohol,” Chan ordered, tugging him along with the handcuffs. “You can smoke a bit, if you need to chill, but no more drinks for you.”

Hyunjin giggled raucously. “Yes, weed! Hyunnie wants weed!”

Chan pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Okay, I’ll take you out for a smoke. You guys can grab some snacks or whatever, and put on a horror movie. We’ll join you in a bit.”

He grabbed Avo and his grinder and led Hyunjin out to the balcony, shutting the sliding door behind them. Felix watched them go, and sighed, “He _does_ know that once Hyunjin smokes, he’ll fall asleep immediately, right?”

“That’s probably the plan,” said Minho.

Changbin went to the kitchen to collect snacks while Jisung perused the options on Shudder, a streaming site exclusively for horror flicks, which Chan for some reason had a subscription to despite his aversion to the genre. Minho kicked off his heels and adjusted the crotch of his bodysuit, which was no doubt giving him a wedgie, before sitting down and tucking himself into Jisung’s side. Changbin returned and laid out the snack options—Coke, Mug root beer, Oreo’s, jalepeño-cheddar Lay’s, hot Cheeto’s, Sour Patch Kids, and a few bars of chocolate—before sitting next to Felix. Seungmin and Jeongin took their seats on the floor, but not before Jeongin removed his sheet, revealing that underneath he was dressed the same as he would be any other day.

Chan and Hyunjin came back inside, Chan sitting on the couch first and making his lap available. Jisung announced, “Okay, so, the options are: _Before The Fire_ , _Hunted_ , _Lingering_ , or _Terrified_.”

“Wait, before we start,” Hyunjin interrupted, “I have a serious question for Minho that I’ve been meaning to ask.”

“. . . Yeah? What’s that?” Minho wondered, slightly worried.

Hyunjin giggled some more, and continued, “You gotta tell me where your dick went. Where’d you put it? It’s gone. Did you take it off?”

Minho snorted. “I didn’t _take it off_ , it’s still there. I just tucked it.”

“ _Tucked_ it?” Jisung interjected, shocked.

Minho looked at him like he was stupid. “Yeah? I just pulled it back and duct-taped it. It’s the oldest drag-queen trick in the books.”

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Hyunjin asked, wistfully blown away.

“No. It’s a little uncomfortable, but it doesn’t hurt,” Minho said.

Hyunjin leaned in to get a closer look at Minho’s crotch and whistled to himself. “Wow. S’pretty amazing, s’like, totally gone.”

“Okay, _anyway_ ,” Felix redirected the conversation, “I don’t care what movie we watch, so long as it’s scary.”

That sentiment was unanimous, so Jisung shrugged and picked _Terrified_ , an Argentine horror film about a series of hauntings in a Buenos Aires neighbourhood. Felix put his goggles over his eyes as if they’d protect him from the scares, while Jeongin suddenly decided to put his sheet back on and Hyunjin curled fearfully into Chan’s chest, even though Chan was no less afraid than he was. Jisung spent the entirety of the film with his face hidden behind Minho’s shoulder, peeking out to watch due to his incessant, morbid curiosity and jumping back to hide whenever anything frightening happened. Minho and Seungmin were the only ones who didn’t flinch even once, almost as if they were bored by the movie, their sheer force of courage both baffling and amazing Jisung. 

By the end of the movie, the snacks were almost gone and the drinks were running on empty; Hyunjin had long since fallen fast asleep on Chan, who looked sleepy himself, and Felix had a red circles around his eyes in the shape of his goggles. Chan supposed that Hyunjin would be sleeping over, while the rest of them bid farewell and left, waving good-bye to one another once they reached the sidewalk. Minho elected to walk home barefoot, as his heels had done enough damage to the soles of his feet, and he hugged himself tightly, rubbing his forearms to stave off the chill.

“What happened to ‘a ho never gets cold’?” Jisung asked teasingly.

“Well. I suppose that applies to more experienced hoes. This is only my first day at the rodeo,” Minho grimaced, his teeth clacking together.

“Here,” Jisung murmured, removing his silk robe and wrapping it around Minho’s shoulders. Minho took it thankfully and held it around himself, though it did little to warm him, and he was shivering all the way back to their apartment suite.

Once they got inside, Minho gave him his robe back, instructing him to put it on. “We have to take a picture. Hayden wanted to see our costumes, remember?”

“Oh, right.” Jisung nodded. Minho propped his phone up on the TV stand and set a timer on the camera, and they did various performative poses, some that were serious—like Jisung standing straight while Minho positioned himself at his side, one hand on his shoulder and one leg out—and some that were silly—like Minho bent over the coffee table with Jisung behind him, hands on his hips, making exaggerated orgasm faces. They also took one cute one, hugging and smiling, Minho giving Jisung a kiss on the cheek and leaving a red-lipstick mark.

“Alright, that should be enough,” Minho decided, turning off his phone and placing it face-down on the table. Then he looked at Jisung and bluntly asked, “Wanna have sex?”

Jisung sputtered for a second, blinking. “I, uh, well, yeah, I do.”

“Cool. I just have to get out of this getup, ‘cause, as sexy as it looks, it’s really not built for it,” Minho explained.

“Right, yeah, of course,” Jisung agreed. “Just . . . can I get one last look at you, first?”

Minho smiled shyly and nodded, biting his lip. Jisung approached him and ran his hands up his sides, scanning him from head-to-toe, taking it all in. He observed his subtle lines and curves, his long legs and all the exposed skin, sucking in a breath. Minho turned around, letting him see the slope of his back, his round ass, and that _fucking_ fluffy tail that was stupidly hot for no discernable reason. 

Jisung took a fistful of his ass cheek and squeezed, hard, making Minho let out a squeak. He grunted, “Okay, I’m hard. Go get changed, I’ll wait here.”

Minho giggled, winking at him and blowing him a kiss before he skipped off down the hallway. Jisung sat on the couch and was left to wait for, again, a very long time. He checked his Instagram feed to see that Hyunjin had posted a ridiculous number of blurry photos he’d taken that night, some from the party and some at Chan’s house, and one of the pictures—the only one that _wasn’t_ blurry—was just of Chan, sitting on his balcony and holding Avo. Jisung smiled to himself, and silently wondered how long it would take Hyunjin to realize that he’d already found his Prince Charming.

Minho returned after almost an hour, and his demeanor had changed dramatically. He shuffled in with his head down and his hands clasped together in front of him, wearing grey sweat-shorts and a white t-shirt, his hair in waves across his forehead and his face free of makeup. 

He murmured, in a small voice, “Sorry, I . . . I know this isn’t as sexy, I . . . hope it doesn’t ruin it for you.”

Jisung gave him a concerned look and gestured for him to approach. “Hey. C’mere.”

Minho walked up to him with small steps, and at Jisung’s direction, straddled his lap. Jisung placed his hands on his waist and leaned in for a sweet kiss, pulling away slowly and smiling at him. “The costume wasn’t what was sexy. It was you _in_ the costume that made it so. But everything that made you look sexy in the costume is still there. I’m not any less attracted to you now than I was before.”

Minho wiggled bashfully in his lap, playing with the hem of his own shirt. “So . . . you still wanna fuck?”

“ _Yes_ , I still wanna fuck,” Jisung whispered, rolling his eyes gently. Then, his face twisted up a little, and he carefully cupped Minho’s crotch, almost like he was cradling it. “Wait, are you up for it, though? I mean, you said you _duct-taped_ this guy, so is he, like . . . up to bat?”

Minho laughed generously. “Yes, he’s just fine, thank you. Touch my chest a little and you’ll see.”

“Mm. Indeed I shall,” Jisung mused, running his hands up Minho’s front to rub his nipples in soft circles through his shirt. Minho squirmed, tucking in his chin and making a small noise, his fingers finding the drawstring of Jisung’s pajama pants and tugging on it. As promised, the next time Jisung looked down, there was a prominent rod-shape in Minho’s shorts, poking out his pocket like it was trying to escape.

“Take this stupid hat off,” Minho ordered, grabbing the rim of Jisung’s sailor hat and removing it, tossing it away. With that gone, he was free to run his fingers through Jisung’s hair, something, it seemed, he was always keen to do. Jisung shimmied out of his robe and undid a few buttons of his shirt, then ran his hands up Minho’s thighs, pushing them past the hem of Minho’s shorts, feeling the smooth skin hidden underneath, and he noticed quickly that Minho had gone commando.

Minho whined a little from deep in his throat, and he squirmed again, pulling on Jisung’s sleeve. “Can we . . . speed this up a little?”

“Impatient, are we?” Jisung teased, brushing his lips against Minho’s neck. “Do you want to move to a bed first, or . . . ?”

“No, I . . .” Minho started, then trailed off, looking away. His ears had turned reddish. “I brought the stuff with me.”

Jisung snorted. “‘The stuff,’ huh? I see.”

Minho fished through his pocket and took out a small bottle of lube and a condom, holding them up with a cheeky grin. Jisung remarked, “How many of those bottles do you have lying around?”

“Only two,” Minho said, “the one in my bedroom and this travel-sized one. It’s not like I hide them all over the place for easy access. Though, at the rate we’re going, that might be a good idea.”

Jisung hummed affirmatively and took the supplies from him. Then, he tilted his head. “So, how do we wanna do this?”

Minho glanced around rapidly, almost like he was short-circuiting. “Uh, hold on, let me just—”

He got off Jisung’s lap and dropped his shorts, stepping out of them and leaving them in a pile on the floor, before sitting back in place, now naked from the waist down. Jisung looked down at his now-exposed shaft, taken aback by his brazenness, then looked up at his face. Minho went on, “Okay, there. Uh, have at ‘er, I guess.”

Jisung couldn’t help a small laugh at that. “No foreplay, then?”

“No, I’m fuckin’ horny as shit,” Minho hissed. “I just want you inside me, like, now. Fuck me into these couch cushions until I can’t breathe.”

“Aye aye, Cap’n,” Jisung muttered sarcastically. He couldn’t decide which he liked better—whiny, begging Minho, or bossy, needy Minho. Something about Minho having bravado even when he was about to take a dick up his ass was both incredibly funny and incredibly sexy, and as much as Jisung loved to tease him, he, too, was impatient and ‘horny as shit,’ so he was more than happy to indulge him.

Jisung took Minho by the hips and guided him to sit up on his knees, then he uncapped the small bottle of lube and poured some onto his fingers, spreading it around before circling one digit around his hole once, twice, three times before he pushed gently inside. Minho closed one eye and grunted softly at the intrusion, and he braced his hands on Jisung’s shoulders for support, his legs already beginning to shake. Jisung twisted and curled his finger carefully, gradually stretching Minho all the while brushing against his prostate, and Minho couldn’t help but let out a few quiet, desperate moans as he bent slightly over, the tip of his nose tickling Jisung’s hair. Once Minho had loosened enough to allow it, Jisung inserted a second finger, and later, a third, making Minho’s arms quiver and his breathing grow ragged.

“Ji— Wait, fuck, it . . . it hurts a bit,” Minho croaked, biting his lip.

Jisung halted his movements, looking up at him with concern. “Oh, sorry. Did I get ahead of myself?”

Minho smiled warmly. “It’s fine, I just need a second.”

Jisung stayed still, letting Minho’s body adjust to the stretch, patiently awaiting his cue to continue. He felt Minho’s cock twitch, brushing against his bare chest, and he got an idea. He slowly shifted lower in his place—careful not to move his hand—until he was halfway off the couch cushion and Minho’s dick was at eye-level. Minho glanced at him, confused at first, until Jisung swiped his tongue across his tip, and Minho’s muscles seized as he let out a sharp whine. Jisung repeated the action, circling his tongue around the circumference and flicking it along the slit, before fitting his lips around him and sucking, his gaze locked with Minho’s.

Minho moaned and covered his mouth, biting down on his hand. He whimpered out, “I-It’s fine now, _shit_ , y-you can move.”

Jisung hummed around his cock and started moving his fingers again, slowly pulling out and pushing them back in, all the while sucking him, taking his dick as far into his mouth as he could. Minho threw his head and hissed a string of curse words, grabbing a fistful of Jisung’s hair and tugging it, his whole body shivering with pleasure. 

He licked a long stripe up Minho’s shaft, open-mouthed and tongue flattened, then asked, “Want me to make you come like this, or do you want to come with my cock inside you?”

Minho mewled softly, his eyes pooled darkly with desire, and it seemed he wasn’t exactly sure. Jisung pushed his fingers in deeply, pressing harshly against his prostate, making him let out another soft sound. Minho choked out, “I-Inside me, I want you inside me, Jisung, for _fuck’s_ sake, I need your cock—”

Jisung gave his dick a final few laps, then gently pulled his fingers out and sat up properly. He took the hem of Minho’s shirt and lifted it over his head, dropping it on the floor with his shorts, then started ravaging his chest, kissing and licking both nipples while he kneaded the supple flesh by his hips. He then picked Minho up and placed him on his belly along the couch cushions, sucking marks down the length of his spine while he undid and removed his own shirt, before stripping off his pants and boxers. Minho looked over his shoulder, eyes eclipsed by his pupils and trained on Jisung’s cock as he licked his lips, and he brought his knees up to stick his butt in the air, wriggling it apprehensively.

“Are you okay to do it like this, or do you want a different position?” Jisung asked him while he unwrapped the condom and rolled it on.

Minho shook his head. “It’s fine like this, just hurry up.”

“Alright, alright, I’m hurrying,” Jisung droned patronizingly. He rested his cock between Minho’s ass cheeks while he poured more lube into his hand, using it to coat his shaft and Minho’s hole, and Minho gyrated his hips, rubbing his rear along Jisung’s length restlessly. 

Jisung took a deep breath and straightened his posture, placing a palm flat against the small of Minho’s back to steady himself and leaning back, using his other hand to line himself up. There was truly nothing graceful or attractive about this act, nor was there a way to make it appear so, as it was like trying to push the end of a thread through a needle—it required precision and concentration, two things that generally went out the window during sex. Nevertheless, it didn’t take long, and soon enough Jisung was free to place both hands on Minho’s waist and just push, entering him gradually and connecting their bodies, and once he was near fully-seated, Minho pressed his forehead into the cushion and let out a wrought groan.

The squeeze around him made him see spots, electrifying and dizzying, no less overwhelming than it was the first time, and he had to dig his nails into Minho’s skin to ground himself as a low growl escaped the deep recesses of his throat. Minho pushed back against Jisung, trying to pull his cock even deeper inside him and whining raggedly, pathetically, his hole fluttering around Jisung’s shaft.

“Are you good? Can I—?” Jisung started to ask.

“Yes, _please_ , go,” Minho demanded, cutting him off, ruthlessly impatient as ever.

Jisung bent over slightly and rocked back, pulling out a few inches and crushing them back in, feeling Minho squeeze and his body shake beneath his hands. He kept up a slow pace, eyes locked on the incredible view below him—Minho, biting the back of his left hand while his right was clawing at the cushions in front of him, the slope of his pretty back was arched upward to show off his round ass and shapely hips, his skin covered in ruddy, red patches and marks that Jisung had left. He was, as always, an impossible force of beauty melded with reckless sexuality, a careening freight train of eye-candy and erotic stimuli, all of it jammed into the small and compact package that made up his entire being, bursting at the seams with every thrust into him. There was, and possibly never would be, anything quite like him, his persona and presence so unique and tastefully unusual; and even if there was another, even if there was an exact replica, Jisung wouldn’t want it. There was only one Minho, and he was the only person in Jisung’s life who’d made him feel this way, this amazing and nauseating concoction of every emotion known to man, unmatched by anything he’d known before, and probably would know after.

Jisung was moving faster now, his hips crashing against Minho’s cheeks, so forceful and so lewd, every inch of his cock delving inside him and driving hot moans from him, rocking his whole body back-and-forth. Jisung bent forward to press his chest against Minho’s back, wrapping his arms around him and playing with his nipples, rolling them beneath his fingertips and pinching, making Minho let out choked sobs of pleasure. He alternated between gentle and violent thrusts, and the way Minho tightened around him as he toyed with his chest was driving him mad, made him groan into Minho’s ear and bite down on his shoulder, an action that had Minho crying out and bucking his hips. 

Jisung straightened up again. As much as he thoroughly enjoyed the view of Minho’s backside, he did miss seeing his face, he missed his pretty eyes and wanton expressions, missed his perky nipples and watching his dick twitch every time Jisung did something he liked. He gradually slowed his movements and pulled out, flipping his sweaty bangs off his forehead and taking a momentary breather.

Minho glanced back at him, brows knotted together and lip quivering. He whined, “No, _ah_ , don’t stop . . .”

“I wanted to see your face,” Jisung said, smiling breathlessly. He took hold of Minho’s left leg and flipped him onto his side, hanging his leg over his right shoulder and leaning in close enough that the tips of their noses touched. “I love the face you make when I fuck you.”

Minho whimpered quietly, a sound that turned into a moan as Jisung entered him again, and Jisung watched his stomach move as he sucked in desperate breaths, his abs flexing and his cock twitching fervently. Minho reached up an arm to grip the cushions again, clinging to them for sanity, and Jisung decided to tease him. He moved slowly, pulling out all the way to the tip before easing back in, repeating that over and over as Minho threw his head back and exposed the long expanse of his throat, neck still marked with Jisung’s kiss, a mark that, he hoped, would never go away. 

“Don’t . . . tease . . .” Minho begged, voice small, panting roughly. “I want it, Jisung, I need it . . . fuck me harder, _please_ , I . . . _unh_ , _fuck_ . . .”

Jisung was revelling in the way he sounded, revelling in the way Minho’s heat was melting his cock, the slow push in-and-out setting him on fire. He was teasing himself as much as he was Minho, and he loved it, almost enough to ride out this gentle wave until they both came. 

“You want it rough?” Jisung asked lowly, darkly, his voice hoarse with lust. 

Minho’s breath hitched as he nodded rapidly. “ _Yes_ , fuck, just fuck me up, I don’t want to fucking walk tomorrow, _God_ , give it to me, please, _please_ —”

As always, he was a sucker for Minho begging, so after slowly pulling almost all the way out, he slammed the whole length back in, quickening the pace and making Minho gleefully squeal, fucking him like the world was about to stop turning. Without breaking his speed, he leaned down to kiss Minho messily, his hands roaming over his whole body, tickling and squeezing him everywhere, playing with his nipples before wrapping a fist around his cock and pumping, twisting his hand and tightening his grip near the top. He moved on to suckle more marks into his neck, kissing down his chest and licking him, and Minho screamed, vibrating with overstimulation, unable to contain it in his frame. 

“Jisung, I’m gonna come, Jisung, you’re gonna make me co— Oh, _fuck_!” Minho swore, and with two more strokes of Jisung’s hand, he was coming, twitching violently and moaning, his toes curling and his back arching off the couch. He gulped in air like he was drowning, buzzing off his intense high, whining as tossing his head as Jisung kept fucking him, kept slamming into his tight heat, faltering and growing sloppier by the second.

Jisung bit his lip and groaned, his own release not far behind, and he pressed his forehead into the crook of Minho’s neck, a hand on each of his thighs. He cursed quietly, and with one more thrust it was over, as his orgasm hit him hard and fast, rendering him frozen and shaking, like a glacier on the verge of collapse. He exhaled harshly and sat up, using all the energy he had left to slip out of Minho and sit back, spent.

Minho was lying flat, his legs spread open, laughing maniacally at, seemingly, nothing. He pushed his hair out of his face and sat up on his elbows, gazing at Jisung. “Fuck, you’re awesome.”

Jisung had his head leaned against the back of the couch, and he chuckled. “I think I need, like, a two-week-long nap to recover from that.”

Minho sat up fully and shuffled over, placing a soft kiss to Jisung’s cheek. “Mm, well, you rest up, big boy. I’ll clean us off.”

He went to stand, but his legs malfunctioned, and he wobbled for a second before falling back on his butt. Dazed, he tried again, and this time managed to stay upright. He massaged his inner thighs and muttered, “Jesus, I feel like I sat on a fucking flagpole.”

Jisung laughed. “Want me to clean up?”

“No, no, sit. I got it,” Minho insisted, and he waddled off down the hall, returning moments later with a garbage can, tissues, and a wet cloth. He wiped the gunk off his own chest and scrubbed himself clean, then removed Jisung’s condom and deposited it in the bin before carefully swabbing any residue off his dick. 

Jisung pat the couch cushion beside him, feeling the wet spot there, caused by sweat and probably other bodily fluids. He grimaced, “Yuck, I think we’ll have to put these covers in the laundry.”

Minho shrugged. “Eh, it’s a problem for tomorrow. Bedtime?”

Jisung smiled and took his hand, letting himself be led off to bed. They fell asleep quickly, curled in one another’s embrace, covers off and thermostat on high.


	20. Flower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> With everything going on in StayVille, I hope this story can be a comfort to you all. Please remember to take a break when you need to, you must put yourselves first, it's what the boys would want. As many of you have said this story is a safe space, I'm going to try to update as frequently as I can so you'll have something to take your minds off things. Please take care of yourselves! I love you guys <3
> 
> We're here! It's Chapter 20, and as such, we've reached a new arc in the story! There are many new developments happening now, and many more coming. I hope you're as excited as I am! Please let me know what you think of this chapter, I had a lot of fun outlining and writing it. 
> 
> As per usual, if you haven't yet, follow me on Twitter (@/mediochris) and turn my post notifications on so you don't miss any updates, spoilers, sneak peeks, etc. I've also started a group chat on Twitter for MITS readers, so let me know if you'd like to be added! Also, be sure to check out the "Molasses in the Sky" playlists on Spotify, YouTube, and Apple Music to get the full musical experience! Links to all three playlists can be found in my pinned thread on Twitter.
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "Flower" by Johnny Stimson!
> 
> Happy reading~

_What can I do, what can I say,_   
_to convince you to stay?_

Jisung awoke to a loud crash, and what sounded like dozens of small objects scattering across the ground, followed by a string of curse words. He sat up in bed, finding himself alone, and glanced around, confused about the source of the noise. He checked the clock on Minho’s bedside table—almost nine. He’d woken up late.

It had been three weeks since Halloween, and in that time, they’d worked tirelessly to pull their song together for the upcoming performance. The lyrics were written, the melody finalized, and the choreography tightened—all that remained was to practice, over and over and as often as they could, until the non-dancers could at least somewhat keep up with the dance majors. They had only five days of practice left, and were still some ways from achieving that goal.

Jisung stretched his arms out with a groan and climbed out of bed, trying to scratch an itch on his back that he couldn’t quite reach. He got dressed in activewear, a sweater and track pants and a beanie, and left the room, walking to the living space to inspect the disturbance that’d roused him from sleep. Minho was standing in the middle of the kitchen in only a t-shirt and boxers, and he was grumpily sweeping up a large pile of dry cat food while the cats tried to eat it off the floor, the feed bag that he must’ve dropped earlier now sitting open on the countertop.

“Good morning. What happened here?” Jisung asked, even though he could easily piece it together himself if he had to.

Minho grumbled, “I made a fucking mess, that’s what happened. Can you hold the dustpan for me?”

“Sure.” Jisung chuckled, grabbing the requested tool off the counter and placing it flat on the floor so Minho could fill it with the cat food, then he emptied it into the trash. They had to repeat this process two more times before all the pellets had been successfully cleaned up, at which point Minho dropped the broom and sat heavily on the floor, uncharacteristic frustration coming off him in waves.

Jisung picked up the broom and attached the dustpan to it, then balanced it against the wall and looked at Minho, worry creeping up his spine. They’d been working themselves to the bone lately, Minho more than anyone, as he’d taken on the role of primary dance instructor, and as such, he didn’t have a lot of patience these days. He was always first to arrive at the dance studio and last to leave, and he’d been getting very little sleep. It seemed his go-to mode of relieving stress had been through sex, which they’d been having a lot of, sometimes upwards of three times a day—yet, it was no substitute for relaxation and a good night’s rest. 

Jisung sat on the floor next to him. “Hey, no need to cry over spilled cat food.”

“I’m not, I’m just . . .” Minho trailed off with a hefty sigh. “Nevermind. We’re gonna be late. I’ll get dressed and we’ll grab breakfast on the way to the studio.”

He got up and went to his room to change. Jisung watched him go, still feeling heavy with worry. He thought, maybe, if Minho was at least honest about how he felt, it would be easier for him to deal with, but Minho had always been like that, reluctant to be open or sincere, hesitant to admit if he was hurting. At least it would only be for a short while. Once they perform, they’ll finally be able to get some much-needed rest, and then, hopefully, Minho will be in a better mood.

Jisung stood up and re-sealed the bag of cat food, placing it back in the cupboard. He thought about the progression of the past few weeks. It was something he’d been thinking a lot about, lately, something that had been plaguing him, like a bedsore or a cough that wouldn’t go away. Life had been progressing, as life always did, sunrise after sunset, day after day, ceaselessly passing him by, and yet he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was stuck in the same place he was three weeks ago, or a month ago. Sure, some things had changed, like the weather outside or the existence of a song that wasn’t there before, but _he_ had not, Minho had not, and their relationship—or lack, thereof—had not. They were still, last he’d checked, ‘friends who fuck,’ ‘roommates who are great in the sack.’ All Minho’s words, not his. He’d not gotten a say, yet, and he’d been deeply considering having a say, getting his own word in, and the more time that passed the more he considered it. 

It terrified him, though, the idea of presenting his opinion to Minho on what they were, or rather, what he wanted them to be. He still wasn’t entirely sure himself, but he knew he wanted more than _this_ , more than ‘friends’ or ‘roommates,’ more than ‘fucking.’ What scared him the most wasn’t his own uncertainty, rather it was Minho’s uncertainty, the mystery of what Minho wanted, if anything at all. What if asking for more scared Minho away? What if Minho didn’t want more? In any case, he couldn’t bring up his concerns now, with Minho’s mood so sour due to his stress. He’d best wait for the right time.

Minho returned, wearing a t-shirt and sweats, with a headband around his forehead. He gestured for Jisung to come, and they both put on running shoes in the foyer and collected their things. They walked to a McDonald’s nearby campus to pick up hashbrowns and breakfast sandwiches, then continued on their way to the university music building, where Chan had booked one of the student dance studios for three hours. They were last to arrive, the others already beginning their warm-up exercises, including Seungmin and Jeongin, who’d graciously been allowed to join their project group—they wouldn’t be graded on their performance, but their music teacher had agreed to give them extra credit for their participation.

“Good, you’re here,” Chan welcomed them. “Get a couple stretches in quickly, then we’ll start.”

Jisung moaned in complaint. “Can’t we eat, first?”

“No, you’re late,” Chan said pointedly. “We’ll run the dance a couple times, then take a break. _Then_ you can eat.”

Jisung grumbled and deposited his McDonald’s bag by the wall with the rest of his stuff. Minho, who seemed to expect this outcome, wordlessly did the same. They got into position in front of the mirror, and Chan turned their song on, and they began practice. Maybe it was because it was early and Jisung hadn’t fully woken up yet, but his feet weren’t doing as they were told, and he stumbled awkwardly through the dance, forgetting a good portion of the steps. When the song finally came to its end, Minho sighed loudly and went to stand at the front of the group.

“Jisung, you’re all over the place. Get it together,” Minho directed. His voice was firm, but not hostile, and Jisung nodded his understanding. “Seungmin, your moves are too passive, go bigger. Jeongin, work on maintaining eye contact with the audience. And Changbin, you’re a bit stiff, loosen up, ‘kay?”

Chan ran a worried hand through his hair. “We’ve got to get this right. Starting Monday, we’ll be practicing with live singing. This dance needs to be super tight before then.”

They got back in position and went again. This time, Jisung had a better handle on the steps, though he still tripped up at times, forgetting to move to his proper place occasionally and getting confused on what to do with his hands. The choreography looked all over the place, and he started to get concerned about how little time they had left to perfect it.

The song ended, and Minho clicked his tongue. “Okay, this isn’t happening. Let’s work sections. I’ll help Jisung and Jeongin. Hyunjin, you help Chan and Seungmin, and Felix will help Changbin.”

They nodded and got into their respective groups in their own corners of the studio. Minho worked through some problem areas with Jeongin, instructing him to move sharply and precisely, and Jisung watched, amazed by Minho’s prowess in both dancing and teaching. Then Minho clapped his hands and rubbed them together, turning to Jisung. 

“Okay. What are you having the most trouble with, currently?” he asked.

There were many things troubling Jisung, both in and out of the studio, but he needed to stay focused on the task at hand. He replied, “Um, the steps in the second part of the dance break are so fast, it’s hard to do them all in tandem.”

Minho nodded sagely. “Right, so let’s go through them slowly. Dance is all about repetition. Once you do something enough times, your body will remember it even when your brain doesn’t. It’s called muscle memory.”

Jisung absorbed his words, his mouth ajar in wonder. Minho was so wise, which was something about him that Jisung found so easy to forget, as there were so many amazing things about him that it was hard to keep track of them all.

Minho went on, “So, we’ll go over it slowly once, then again, then again, and we’ll work our way up to the intended speed. Sound good?”

“Y-Yeah, okay. I’ll do my best,” Jisung promised, nodding.

They worked on that section for the next half-hour, Minho pausing him every now and again to correct his posture, foot, and hand placements. He danced along with Jisung, walking him through each step one-by-one, until Jisung slowly started getting the hang of it, able to nearly keep up with Minho. Jeongin also followed along, listening carefully to Minho’s every word, watching him like a hawk and copying his movements as best he could. After that, they all got together again to run through the whole dance once more, and it had come together nicely, looking a lot cleaner than it did the first two times.

“Alright, good. Let’s take a quick break and resume in fifteen,” Chan announced. 

Hyunjin immediately collapsed to the floor with an exaggerated groan, his legs spread open and his arms back, head turned to the ceiling. Felix leaned on Changbin for support, while Jeongin beelined for his water bottle. Jisung and Minho collected their McDonald’s and started eating ravenously, and when Hyunjin came over attempting to steal a bite of his hashbrown, Jisung hissed and swatted him away.

Chuckling, Hyunjin sat against the wall and took a swig from his water bottle. “Hey, guess what? I’ve got news.”

“Oh, really? Is it something I should be worried about?” Jisung wondered, through his mouthful.

Hyunjin fluttered his lips and waved a hand. “Pfft, no. You should be happy for me, though.”

Jisung nodded, wiping his hands on a napkin. “Okay. What is it?”

“I . . . slept with someone,” Hyunjin said, flipping his hair.

“Really? When?” Jisung inquired. Then his eyes narrowed, and he lowered his voice. “Was it . . . Chan?”

“Last night, and _no_ , it wasn’t Chan,” Hyunjin muttered, rolling his eyes. “I went to a small party with some guys I know from class, and I met this girl, and we hit it off. So I took her home.”

Jisung hummed curiously. “Do you think you’ll see her again?”

“Nah, probably not.” Hyunjin shook his head. “We didn’t exchange numbers, and I don’t know all that much about her, so it seemed like more of a one-off.”

“Oh. I see,” Jisung mumbled. “So then, why are you telling us this?”

Hyunjin huffed. “Because! I thought you’d be pleased to hear about this development in your best friend’s life.”

Jisung pursed his lips. “Well, you’re right about that. I am pleased. Now you’ll hopefully stop whining about your ‘sexual drought.’”

“What’s going on?” someone asked. Jisung looked up to see Chan, water bottle in hand and a towel over one shoulder.

“Er, Hyunjin, um . . . slept with someone,” Jisung told him, picking his words carefully. “A girl.”

Chan looked taken aback for a second, before a smile crossed his face. “Ah. Well, that’s nice, I’m happy for you, Jin.”

He seemed relaxed, but there was a certain tone resting behind his words that made them sound disingenuous, if only a little. Still, there didn’t seem to be any awkward tension between them, and honestly, Jisung didn’t know why he expected there to be. Sure, the two of them were close, but they were close in the way any two friends would be—besides Hyunjin’s insistence to sit on Chan’s lap all the time, and Chan’s revelation that he’d be willing to fuck Hyunjin if the chance arose. But, perhaps, there really wasn’t anything between them after all.

Break time came to an end, far too quickly in Jisung’s mind, and they reconvened to go over the dance a few more times. They spent their last two hours in the studio working over sections in small groups and as a team, and by the end of it, they were all thoroughly exhausted, but their work had paid off, the choreography now feeling a lot more put-together. Jisung threw his McDonald’s bag in the trash and collected his stuff, then turned to Minho, who was still standing in the center of the room.

“You coming?” he asked.

Minho shook his head. “The next people who booked the studio won’t get here ‘til one, so I’m gonna review the video taping we took and work on some more things. You go ahead.”

“You sure? You really shouldn’t work so—”

“I’m fine, Jisung. Go on without me, I’ll see you later,” Minho stated, and Jisung got the sense there would be no further argument.

Chan came up behind Jisung and touched his shoulder. “Leave him, you know how he is. Wanna grab a coffee?”

Jisung shrugged. “I guess so. Bye, Minho.”

Minho waved them off without looking, his eyes glued to his phone, watching the videotape. Jisung followed Chan out of the building and a short ways across campus to Kerckhoff Coffee House, a spacious café at the heart of the university, offering a variety of drinks and quick snack foods, and although they had many tables it was always impossible to find seating due to the number of students who used the space for studying. They got in line behind a pair of nursing school grads wearing scrubs, Chan looking up at the menu while Jisung looked at the selection of baked goods on display.

“I’m worried about him. He works too hard, he’s stressed out all the time, he hardly sleeps . . .” Jisung mumbled absently, while eyeing a delectable-looking chocolate croissant. 

Chan blew a soft chuckle through his nose. “That’s Minho, all right. He’s the type to keep going until he’s somehow forced to stop. I wouldn’t worry too much, though. He’s always been like that, and he’s a tough guy, he handles himself well.”

“I’m not sure he does,” Jisung argued. “You don’t know what he’s like at home. His temper’s been so short, lately, he gets bent outta shape at the littlest things. He’s not taking care of himself properly. He’s either practicing, or he’s doing his assignments, or he’s studying, or he’s going to work . . . He never rests, and it’s getting to him. It’s getting to _me_.”

Chan clicked his tongue. “Well, now, that can’t happen. If it gets to you, that’ll be bad news for you both. I’ll say this, Minho hates being coddled more than anything. If you impose on him too much, he’ll get upset. So just focus on yourself, yeah? He’ll have plenty of time to rest over Thanksgiving break.”

Jisung still felt unsure about that, but he couldn’t say anything more on the subject, as they were next in line. He ordered a black americano and a chocolate croissant, while Chan got a caramel macchiato and a plain donut. Once they received their food and drinks, as there was no seating inside, they went to find a table outside, sitting beneath a tree in the middle of the square.

“So, I know you said not to impose on him,” Jisung continued, “but isn’t there _something_ I can do? I care about him, I won’t just sit by and watch him destroy himself.”

Chan made a reluctant face. “No, see, you’re exaggerating. I told you, he’s a tough guy. Even if he’s got a lot going on now, he’ll be fine in the end. Seriously, you shouldn’t worry so much.”

“I can’t help it! He’s . . . I . . . Ah,” Jisung sighed heavily. “He’s so important to me. He means so much to me, Channie. It kills me to see him like this.”

“Well, if you plan on being with him for a long time, get used to it,” Chan warned. “As I said, he’s always been like this. Be it big projects, personal issues, exam season, whatever, he works himself into the ground, and there’s no stopping him. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Jisung groaned. “So there’s really nothing I can do?”

“Maybe there is. You’d probably have a better idea than me,” Chan offered. “You can’t make him stop, and he won’t like it if you try, but maybe you _can_ push him to take better care of himself while he’s working. Like, make him a meal so he’ll eat, or fuck him so much he gets tired and sleeps early. You have to do it in secret, like, behind his back so to speak, ‘cause if he finds out you’re mothering him, he’ll get fussy.”

Jisung nodded, taking in the advice. “I might just try that. Thanks, Chan. I guess it’s a matter of learning how best to accommodate his needs, right? That’s how relationships work.”

Chan smiled warmly. “Exactly. There’s a learning curve to it, but you’ll get the hang of it eventually.”

“I hope so. I want that,” Jisung admitted. “I want to take care of him, and be there for him, in a way that’s not burdensome to him. I want him to be able to lean on me, and . . . I guess I just want to be an indispensable presence in his life.”

Chan raised his eyebrows. “Look at you, eh? Good on ya. Just, it needs to be a two-way street. Make sure he takes care of you, too, yeah?”

“Yes, _dad_.” Jisung rolled his eyes. 

They enjoyed their coffees and snacks quietly for a while, listening to the wind blowing through the trees and the hum of lively chatter all around them, enjoying each other’s company in comfortable silence. Jisung was, as always, grateful for Chan’s existence in his life, grateful for the friendship he’d found in him. They were more than just good work partners—Chan was a big-brotherly presence to him, an irreplaceable person, someone he was glad to have at his side and hoped to have well into his twilight years. He was a shoulder to cry on, a hand to hold, a beacon of warmth and helpful advice; a counsellor, a friend, an oracle, and a teacher all in one. There truly was no one he trusted more.

“Think I’d get yelled at if I smoked here?” Chan wondered, taking his cigarette pack out of his bag.

“Probably,” Jisung answered pointedly, looking at the clear ‘No-Smoking’ sticker glued to the tabletop, “but everyone does it, anyway.”

“Right on,” Chan mumbled around the cigarette between his lips as he lit it.

Jisung reached out two fingers. “Hey, pass me one of those.”

Chan held out his pack for Jisung to take as he pleased while he took a drag. Jisung borrowed his lighter and lit the cigarette, pinching it between his lips and inhaling the smoke, letting it fill his lungs before puffing it out with a slight cough.

His eyes watered, and he asked, strained, “Jesus, are these like, extra-strength or something?”

“Yup. Marlboro Red, Heavenly stuff,” Chan said, then blew out a thin trail of smoke. “These are gonna kill me someday, but I’ll die happy.”

“And on a respirator, with a hole in your throat,” Jisung teased.

Chan laughed a little. “Right. I’ll cut down soon, probably. Been thinkin’ of trying a vape, like Minho is.”

“Because that’s working out _so_ well for him,” Jisung muttered sarcastically. “He still smokes like a busted car engine.”

“Ah, give him time. He’ll quit when he’s ready to,” Chan remarked.

Jisung sat back in his seat, relenting. He took another drag of his cigarette, managing to not cough this time, as he was ready for the attack on his throat. Then he began, “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, how are you doing?”

“What do you mean? Like, in general?” Chan queried.

“Well, sure, but I meant more like . . .” Jisung trailed off, suddenly feeling choked. “I meant with Hyunjin. Are you guys okay?”

Chan got a puzzled look on his face. “Of course. Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Er, I just thought,” Jisung stammered, “with him sleeping with someone. Like, are you upset or anything?”

Chan chuckled generously. “Not at all! Look, just ‘cause I said I’d fuck him if he asked doesn’t mean I’ve fallen for the guy. I’m perfectly happy just being his friend. It’s good that he’s gotten some action, I know he’s been wanting to.”

Jisung hummed suspiciously. “Right, but, I thought . . . you . . . Ah, nevermind. I guess I was just in my head a bit.”

They hung around the square for a while longer, enjoying a second round of coffees and smoking through half of Chan’s pack, chattering about various mundane things, like Chan looking for a new job, Jisung getting swamped with classwork, and whether Donald Trump would be more or less attractive if he was a woman. The sun was creeping towards the horizon, and most of the people around them had disappeared, off to classes or other affairs. It was then that Jisung’s phone buzzed in his pocket, so he took it out to check it.

11월 21일, 4:56 오후  
나랑 만나서 저녁 먹을래? (Want to meet me for dinner?)  
난 In-N-Out 근처에 있어 (I’m near In-N-Out)

It was from Minho, and Jisung felt his heart do something annoying. He typed out a response.

11월 21일, 4:57 오후  
릭스는 어디서 일하나요? (Where Lix works?)

Chan was looking at him curiously. “Whatcha writing?”

“Texting. Minho wants to meet for dinner,” Jisung said.

“Ooh, like a date?” Chan bubbled, waggling his eyebrows.

“No, I don’t think that’s . . .” Jisung started to say. Then he thought about it. “Well, yeah, maybe. Kind of.”

He looked down to see another text had come in.

11월 21일, 4:59 오후  
응 (Yeah)  
오고 있어? (Are you coming?)

Jisung got up and grabbed his bag. “I’ll go meet him. See you tomorrow?”

“No practice tomorrow. Rest day, couldn’t book the studio,” Chan informed him. “But we can hang out if you’d like.”

“Okay, sure. I’ll call you,” Jisung said, while typing out a final text to Minho.

11월 21일, 5:01 오후  
곧 갈게요! (Be there soon!)

“Hey, make sure to practice your lines!” Chan called after him as he left.

“Will do! See ya.” Jisung waved good-bye.

He made his way down Westwood Plaza towards Gayley, still thinking about Chan’s words. Would he be getting ahead of himself if he considered this a ‘date’? Sure, they weren’t dressed up, and it was only fast-food, but they would be sitting down to eat, just the two of them, somewhere that wasn’t their shared apartment. They’d never done that before, not even just as friends. He couldn’t help but feel excited, walking quickly on jumpy feet, as the prospect of having a sort-of _date_ with Minho started to set in.

He found Minho standing outside the restaurant, vaping and looking at his phone. He called out sunnily, “I’m here!”

“Hi,” Minho greeted him. He pocketed his phone and held the door open for Jisung to enter first, then followed close behind.

They got in line behind a couple of construction workers. Jisung tucked his hands in his pockets and turned to Minho, shyly murmuring, “Thanks for inviting me out.”

Minho looked at him a little strangely. “Oh, yeah. Well, I was nearby, and I didn’t feel like carrying a bunch of food home, so I thought it’d just be easier to eat here.”

So that’s all it was? Jisung felt a little embarrassed about his earlier excitement, and glanced down at his feet. Still, even if Minho didn’t think so, he would treat this as a date nonetheless. 

They approached the till, and Jisung saw that the employee was some white guy with a rat-mustache, so it seemed Jeongin didn’t have a shift that day, and if Felix was flipping burgers in the back it was impossible to tell. They each placed their orders, and Minho took out his card to pay.

Jisung put out a hand to stop him. “I can pay for us.”

“No, no, I will,” Minho insisted, “I make more money than you.”

“You have _three_ jobs, you work hard for your money. I’ll pay,” Jisung argued.

Minho swiftly tapped his card on the machine, then smiled triumphantly at Jisung. “Nope. I’m paying.”

Jisung grumbled. “Okay, well, I’ll get the _next_ one.”

They stood off to the side to wait for their food, and when it came, Minho took the trays and found them a table by the window. Jisung unwrapped his burger and took a large bite, munching on it, both cheeks full, while Minho started on his fries. 

“You ever tried dipping your fries in ice cream?” Minho asked. “Or a milkshake? Both are really good.”

Jisung swallowed his bite and hummed. “No, I haven’t tried it. I’ve heard of people doing that, though.”

“Try it sometime. People talk about it because it’s worth talking about,” Minho explained. 

Jisung nodded. As he took another bite, he wondered what they should talk about next. It wasn’t uncomfortable to eat with Minho in silence, but he did hope they could have a conversation, though Minho wasn’t the easiest person to make small-talk with. With Chan, it was like second-nature, and Hyunjin was the type to never shut up, but Minho was different—in some ways, he was like a brick wall, closed-off and unapproachable, a dead end. In nicer terms, he was simply reserved and quiet, not the type to talk unless necessary. Jisung thought back to what he’d said to Chan, that making a relationship work was all about accommodation, and he realized this was one thing, among probably many others, that he’d simply have to learn to adjust to if he was to go forward with Minho. 

“So, uh, what’ve you been up to the past couple hours?” Jisung inquired, hoping that would spur further dialogue. Minho had only been able to stay at the studio until one-o’clock, and it was now past five, but by the sounds of it, he hadn’t yet been home.

Minho looked up in thought. “Well, not much. After I left the studio I went for a run around the field, then I got thirsty so I went inside the activities building to grab something from the vending machine, and while I was there I ran into some friends so we talked for a bit, and then . . . I just sort of wandered around until I thought of texting you.”

Jisung chuckled a little. Minho was an oddball for sure, nothing new there, and it was interesting to learn about the things he did to entertain himself in his spare time. He thought, maybe, that was the reason Minho worked so much—he just needed things to fill the hours every day. He certainly wasn’t really the type to just lounge around, the way Jisung absolutely was. He needed things to _do_ , activities to keep himself busy, distractions from the monotony of daily life. 

“What do you want to do when we get home?” Jisung asked next. Their conversation was starting to feel like an interview, but he was running out of things to say, and he hoped, desperately, that this would lead somewhere.

“I don’t know. Fuck?” Minho said, with a shrug. 

Jisung choked on a fry. Minho’s bluntness was something he still wasn’t used to. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather rest? I mean, after all the practicing we did, and then you said you went for a run . . .”

“I’m fine. I’ve rested plenty in the last couple hours,” Minho insisted. “If you don’t wanna fuck, that’s fine, we can do something else. It was just a thought.”

“No, I, well, I’d like to,” Jisung sputtered, “but, maybe we could just watch TV for a bit, first? I’m a little tired, myself.”

Minho bobbed his head understandingly. “I’m good with that. And, hey, if you’re tired, y’know, I can always do the work.”

Jisung grit his teeth and squeezed his legs together under the table. “Don’t . . . Don’t talk like that, we’re in public . . .”

“I’m just sayin’,” Minho murmured, smirking.

They finished up their food and deposited their trays by the garbage can, and Minho took a hit from his vape as soon as they’d left the restaurant. They walked the short distance home, Minho kicking off his shoes and leaving them in the middle of the foyer—as always—before tearing off his headband and throwing it on the floor by the hallway. He sat down heavily on the couch, stretching his arms out in front of himself and cracking his knuckles.

Jisung sat beside him and grabbed the remote. “What should we watch?”

“Whatever you want,” Minho said. “I haven’t seen _The View_ yet, today.”

Normally, Jisung would reject that suggestion, but as much as he didn’t get Minho’s fascination with talk shows, that idea of ‘accommodation’ came to him again, so he relented. “Okay. I’ll put it on.”

He caught Minho glancing at him in his periphery, as though he was shocked at Jisung’s willingness to accept his idea, as though he’d only said it jokingly and hadn’t expected Jisung to actually go along with it. Nonetheless, he seemed pleased, so Jisung turned on YouTube and found the most recently-uploaded clip from _The View_ , letting it play before he sat back to diligently watch, putting out an arm so Minho could cuddle with him.

But Minho simply opened his laptop, which was sitting on the coffee table, and started typing, not even looking at the TV. Jisung’s brow furrowed—he’d put on the show Minho asked for, so why wasn’t he watching it? Wasn’t the plan to enjoy some TV together, snuggling, and let that eventually lead to fucking? 

Jisung, perplexed, leaned over to look at Minho’s computer screen. It looked like a Word document. “What are you doing? Aren’t you going to watch?”

“Yeah. I just have some assignments to work on,” Minho murmured, transfixed with his typing. “Don’t mind me, watch away.”

“But . . . I wanted you to watch _with_ me,” Jisung complained, tugging on Minho’s hoodie sleeve.

“I am watching. I can multitask,” Minho reasoned.

Jisung wasn’t convinced. He pouted, laying his head on Minho’s shoulder. “I think you should relax, though. You’ve been working all day. Cuddle with me?”

Minho breathed a short chuckle. “I’m fine. I’ll finish this first, then I can cuddle.”

Jisung wouldn’t give up so easily. He remembered Chan’s warning, about how affronted Minho got when imposed upon, and he recalled that it was advised to force him to rest in a stealthy way. He surely wasn’t getting anywhere like this—Minho would hardly compromise, and even cuteness hadn’t won him over. Luckily, Jisung had many tricks up his sleeve, many weapons in his arsenal, and he was prepared to use all of them.

Slowly, he snaked a hand up Minho’s hoodie and circled a fingertip around a nipple, making Minho flinch. He put a hand over Jisung’s to stop him, and finally looked him in the eyes. “Don’t, I . . . I really should finish this . . .”

It was working. Jisung took his hand away and slid to the edge of the couch cushion, then further, until he was on the floor. “I won’t stop you. Do what you need to. I’ll just . . . be down here.”

Jisung crawled to kneel between the couch and the coffee table, between Minho’s legs, and he walked two hands up his thighs. Minho looked down at him, his breathing gone ragged, and he gulped thickly. “I . . . I won’t be able to focus . . .”

“You don’t want me to?” Jisung looked up at him, through hooded eyes, while he palmed the steadily-growing hardness in Minho’s sweats.

Minho exhaled roughly through his nose and yielded, “. . . Go on, then.”

He sat up for a moment to allow Jisung to slip his pants and boxers down, revealing his erection to the air. Minho obediently went on typing, fixing his eyes on his laptop and refusing to look down, pretending as though nothing was going on. Jisung wouldn’t let him pretend for long. He was on a mission to take Minho away from that goddamn computer, from all the work he’d been putting himself through, to set him free from the bindings of responsibility, even if just for the night. 

He started small, sliding a loose fist up Minho’s shaft and squeezing lightly at the tip—rinse, repeat. Gradually, he tightened his fist, until he was properly stroking him, pumping his length from bottom to top, not missing even a millimeter. He could feel Minho’s legs starting to quiver, could hear his laboured breathing and the way he choked back noises, and he knew he was having an effect on him—yet, Minho still wouldn’t look down, he still went on typing as though nothing was the matter. So, Jisung needed to up the ante.

He continued by applying short laps of his tongue just to the tip of Minho’s cock, the way a cat would lick milk from a bowl, soft and quick, yet so wonderfully effective. Minho was shivering, now, his typing slowed and faltered, and he was chewing on his lower lip to keep from making any sound, and in an attempt to put his attention elsewhere. Jisung went on, licking long stripes up Minho’s shaft, flicking his tongue at that triangular spot and leaving gentle kisses along the ridge, and Minho was struggling to hold it in, as the tiniest whimper escaped him, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Gaining confidence now, Jisung wrapped his lips around Minho’s tip and suckled, tonguing the slit in between circles around the whole head, and he heard Minho drink in a deep breath. Jisung began bobbing his head slowly, sucking hard enough that his cheeks hollowed out, taking Minho’s cock deep enough into his mouth that he felt it nudge the back of his throat. On one such nudge, he gulped thickly, and his throat seemed to open slightly, so he experimentally pushed just a little further, and Minho’s dick delved past his previous limit—but in the end, he choked, and had to pull off. Still, he felt the muscles in Minho’s thighs seize, felt his whole body tense, and heard him whisper a curse. 

So he did it again, lengthening his neck and swallowing Minho’s cock, feeling it slip past the back of his tongue and push through the tight breach of his throat, and Minho cursed again, openly, tilting his head back and groaning, one hand tangling itself in Jisung’s hair. Jisung continued how he normally would, sucking and licking him, and on one upstroke he carefully let his teeth graze Minho’s shaft, and it seemed that was it.

Minho tugged on Jisung’s hair, hard, yanking him off, and at the same moment he slammed his laptop closed. Jisung looked up at him, and he looked down at Jisung, desperate lust pooled in his gaze. “I can’t do this. Take me to bed, _now_.”

“Yessir,” Jisung complied happily. He stood and picked Minho up, let him kick his pants and boxers all the way off and leave them on the floor before carrying him down the hall, ending up in Minho’s room, where he dropped him on the bed. He bent over Minho’s frame, and licked another long stripe up his shaft with a flat tongue before he asked, “Want me to finish you off like this?”

Minho shook his head, his hair flying into his eyes. “No, I want you, I want your cock, I . . . I _need_ you to fuck me, please—”

Jisung expected as much. He hoped as much, this was all pertaining to plan, that he was going to fuck Minho silly until he tuckered out and fell soundly asleep. If so, it’d be his first proper night’s rest in, probably, a couple weeks. Jisung stripped off Minho’s hoodie before removing his own sweatshirt and pants, then rummaged around in the ever-convenient, trusty bedside drawer to find the lube and condoms. 

He dropped the items on the bed next to them, then stooped low, his head between Minho’s bent legs. He sweetly asked, “Can I eat you out, first? I really want to.”

Minho squirmed, and he whimpered, “O-Okay, fine, just a little.”

Jisung smiled. It was almost too easy. He hooked his hands under Minho’s knees and lifted them up, exposing his hole, puckered and fluttering as if it were just as desperate as the rest of him. He kissed a line down one of Minho’s inner thighs, then the other, pausing every so often to leave small, red marks, until he got to the crook of Minho’s leg and he licked the rest of the way to his hole, circling his tongue-tip around the rim. Minho wriggled in place, whining inwardly and throwing his head, kicking his feet slightly as though doing so would stave off the immense pleasure. Jisung flattened his tongue and laved a line from his tailbone up to his taint, then in a wide circle, and he could feel Minho’s entrance start to soften, loosen, still twitching with effervescent need.

Once Minho was loose enough to allow it, Jisung wriggled his tongue inside him, lapping at his inner rim before diving further, as far as it could possibly go. Minho made a high-pitched, pathetic sound, squirming, waving his limbs like a capsized turtle, managing to look so sweetly sexy and cute at the same time, and Jisung was relishing in it. While he continued to lick him, Jisung grabbed the lube and coated his fingers, warming it between them as he travelled his tongue up Minho’s nether region, to his taint and his balls and finally, to his shaft. He fit Minho’s cock into his mouth and gently sucked, then pushed his middle finger inside him and curled it, stretching him open and rubbing his prostate.

“F-Fuck, Jisung, it’s too much,” Minho whined, back arching and toes curling, an earthquake rumbling beneath his skin. “Please . . . hurry, _please_ , just—oh, _fuck_ —please, I want you inside me, I . . .”

Jisung popped off his cock and licked him softly, then whispered, “I don’t want to hurt you, though.”

Minho whined again, gripping the sheets, but resigned himself to patience. Jisung alternated between kissing his cock and his inner thighs while he slipped a second finger inside him, scissoring them, curling them to ease him through the ache. He moved his hand slowly, making Minho quiver and moan, making him gradually stretch more and more, while he watched Minho’s face, his body, his reactions. Even in the gloom, he was shining. It was hard to make out his features, but Jisung didn’t need to—he could see beyond that, he could see his mind and his soul, could feel his aura, the reverberating energy of beauty coming off him, dripping from him, like a dam on the verge of bursting open. They hadn’t been together long, no, but with every day that went by, Jisung found himself falling further into Minho’s grace, further into his being that was, by this point, welded to him, branded on him, tattooed on his heart. Minho was a mark that couldn’t be removed, and Jisung the canvas that would hold his picture with him no matter what, even if he was left to collect dust in some dark, humid basement.

“Jisuuung . . . Hurry up, please . . .” Minho begged, pouting and kicking his feet. Jisung snapped out of his thoughts—he’d gotten distracted again, something that’d been happening more frequently as the weeks had gone by, and his movements had slowed almost to a halt. He shook his head to regain focus, and gently slipped a third finger inside, twisting his hand to ease the digits as deep as they could go. Minho groaned lowly, writhing in place, gripping the sheets and pulling them, his cock twitching against his stomach with every movement of Jisung’s hand. Jisung was still watching him, watching his body shift, every bone and muscle fluid beneath his skin, every line and curve of him so perfectly designed, put in place undoubtedly by a tasteful higher power.

“You’re so fucking pretty. God,” Jisung whispered, enamored, gazing at him with every emotion he felt showing in his eyes. He only hoped Minho could see it, without him having to say it.

Minho bit his lip, his brows knotting together, and his dick twitched again. He begged, “Then will you _fuck me already_?”

Jisung chuckled. “Okay, baby. You’re ready?”

Minho nodded quickly and threw the condom at him, the square of plastic accidentally hitting Jisung in the face. He giggled. “Oops, sorry.”

Jisung slowly removed his fingers and sat up, wriggling out of his boxers. He unwrapped the condom and put it on, then slathered his shaft and Minho’s hole in more lube for good measure. By doing so, he used the last of what was left in the bottle, and only then did he realize just _how_ much sex they’d been having recently. 

“Shit, we’re out already?” Minho noted, holding up the empty bottle. “Guess I’ll have to buy more tomorrow. Maybe I’ll get _two_ , just to be safe.”

Jisung snorted. “Yeah, might as well, at the rate we’re going.”

“Can’t run out of lube in this household. I like having sex with you too much,” Minho said, then laughed. “I mean, we still have a bit left in the small bottle, if we’re ever in a pinch.”

“The real ‘pinch’ would be if we had to use spit,” Jisung remarked, then shuddered. “I can’t imagine _that_ would be much fun.”

Minho cringed. “It’s not. I can attest.”

Jisung chuckled lightly and shuffled forward, holding Minho’s legs open while he lined himself up, glancing into Minho’s eyes to make sure he was ready. Upon receiving a nod of affirmation, he pushed inside him, gripping his waist and leaning into the slide, groaning from deep in his chest once he was fully-seated. Minho whined, gyrating his hips, and he gasped out a moan when Jisung started to move, pulling out halfway before pushing back in, nails digging into Minho’s skin. He was still watching Minho, hyper-focused on his minute details—the goosebumps across his flesh, the hair sticking to his forehead, his long lashes and red-tipped ears, every part of him so wondrous that it was difficult to look directly at him, like looking at the sun. To Jisung, he was the sun, _his_ sun, the light and the warmth in his life, the day to his night, a constant that kept him moving even in the dark. With Minho around, there was no dark.

He began moving faster, only slightly, rolling his hips back and snapping them forward, crushing into Minho’s prostate which, by now, he knew the exact location of, the coordinates etched into his brain. Minho keened, crying out and calling his name in a sweet, wrecked voice, music to Jisung’s ears, a sound he heard even in the depths of his sleep. Jisung could hardly feel the pleasure, though, so caught up in the sight before him that it was the only thing that mattered in the moment. They’d had sex many, many times, but somehow this time was different—this time, there were feelings in Jisung’s chest that hadn’t been there in the past, at least, not of this calibre, feelings that heightened the overall experience so much that he couldn’t feel it at all. There was just a numbness, a white noise, a mumble like a fog or a deep sea clouding his brain, an ache in the back of his throat caused by words clawing desperately to get out. He wanted to let them out, even if it killed him.

“Jisung— _ah_ —faster, please,” Minho whined, voice cracked and breathless, and he gazed at Jisung with eyes that begged more than his words, desperately chasing release. “Please, it feels so good, _oh God_ , it feels so fucking good, Jisung, _please_ . . .”

Jisung leaned into him, pressing himself against him, and fucked him harder, leaving kisses on his neck and along his collarbone while rocking into him, all those strange, new emotions manifesting themselves in the force behind every thrust. Minho cried out, wrapping his arms around Jisung’s shoulders and pulling him closer, breathing and moaning next to his ear, and Jisung couldn’t take it anymore. What he felt for Minho was so strong, so powerful, and so terrifyingly real—it ate at him from inside, scratching its talons along his flesh, digging holes into him, and it hurt too much to hold in. He couldn’t, anyway, even if he wanted to.

He tucked his face into the crook of Minho’s neck, and a choked sound escaped him, almost like a sob, bubbling out from his chest, absorbed by the heat of it all. Minho’s nails dug into his back, and he was shaking so much beneath Jisung’s frame that the bed shook with him. He gulped back moans and garbled whispers of Jisung’s name, every sound he made increasing the ache in Jisung’s heart, seizing his muscles and turning his bones to mush. There was nothing left in him, nothing but those words caught in his throat, that one sentence resting on the tip of his tongue, threatening to spill. Until it did.

“Minho, I . . .” Jisung murmured into his ear, choked, strained, yet more honest than he’d ever been. “I love you.”

“ _Oh God_ —” Minho cried, then went still, and Jisung felt something wet paint both of their bodies. Tremors ran up Minho’s spine, and he cursed, coming unravelled, then he went limp.

Jisung wasn’t far behind, and with one more push he was coming, too, all that leftover emotion draining from him until he was spent. He breathed, hard, panting, pulling out and rolling onto his back, wiping sweat from his brow. 

Minho exhaled happily. “Damn, I needed that.”

Jisung stared up at the ceiling, reeling from what had just left his mouth. He wasn’t even sure if he’d actually said it out loud, or if it was just a piercing and overactive thought, still kept privately to himself. If he did, indeed, say it, then Minho simply wasn’t reacting to it. Maybe he just didn’t hear it?

Minho got up and climbed out of bed, grabbing a fresh pair of boxers and a t-shirt from his drawer and putting them on. Jisung sat up and looked at him, and he asked, “Where are you going?”

Minho approached the bedside and ruffled Jisung’s hair. “I’m gonna shower, then continue that assignment. It’s due next week.”

“Next week? You’ve got plenty of time to work on that,” Jisung argued gently. “C’mon, stay. Let’s go for another round. Or I can join you in the shower?”

“Nope. I really need to work, okay?” Minho insisted softly, making his way to the door.

Jisung called after him, “Will you come to bed later, then?”

Minho turned around and smiled, his silhouette lined by the light coming from the hallway. “Sure.”

Then he left, and Jisung was alone. His plan had ultimately failed. Minho was still dutifully tied down, shackled by responsibility, and Jisung could do nothing about it. He sighed heavily, turning over and smushing his face into the pillow.

He’d fallen asleep long before Minho came to join him, if he ever did at all.


	21. Baby Blue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> I wrote this pretty quickly, as it's a shorter chapter, and it's basically a compilation of conversations. I'm sorry if the quality of this chapter isn't exactly up to par, I just wanted to get it out quickly because I know you're all very intrigued to see where this goes. All I really have to say is... have fun with this one ;)
> 
> As always, if you haven't yet, be sure to follow me on Twitter (@/mediochris) and turn my notifications on to stay up-to-date with all the juicy MITS bonus content! Also, check out the "Molasses in the Sky" playlists on Spotify, YouTube, and Apple Music! Links to all three playlists can be found in my pinned thread on Twitter.
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "Baby Blue" by Scanners!
> 
> Happy reading~

_Why do things change?_   
_Why don’t they stay the same?_

The following morning, Jisung awoke to a lonely room, the sheets cold beside him. If Minho had ever come to bed, he’d left some time ago, no doubt off to more useless busywork due to his apparent aversion to relaxation. Jisung sighed. Chan did say that Minho had ‘always been like this,’ but he was hesitant to believe it, as he couldn’t recall another time when he’d been working himself into the ground quite like he was now. It seemed, in recent weeks, Minho had been getting increasingly busier, to the point it was well beyond ridiculous.

Jisung got up and out of bed, returning to his own room to put on fresh boxers, black sweats, and an old band t-shirt. He flipped his hair out of his eyes and made his way to the living room, where Minho’s laptop was still sitting open on the coffee table, a pile of blankets and pillows on the couch in front of it. So he hadn’t come to bed, after all. He’d worked until exhaustion got the better of him, and he’d slept right there, as though he was attached to his assignment by a chain. Somehow, Jisung wasn’t even a little bit surprised.

He went into the kitchen, finding Minho in front of the Keurig, zombie-like and in a trance, his hair sticking up in places. It appeared he hadn’t noticed Jisung yet, almost like he’d fallen asleep standing up. 

“Morning, you,” Jisung murmured, nudging him.

Minho flinched, then relaxed, glancing at Jisung for a moment before looking away. “Oh. Morning.”

Something felt off about him, but Jisung didn’t think a lot of it, considering everything he’d been putting himself through. He said, “Tell me you don’t have work today.”

“I do,” Minho muttered, chuckling dryly. “Coffee shop. Starts in an hour.”

Jisung groaned. “Fuck’s sake. Do you _ever_ take a day off?”

“No. What’s it to you? Why do you care?” Minho mumbled scathingly. “Stop worrying about me. It’s none of your business, anyway.”

Jisung stalled, taken aback. Minho’s mood had darkened considerably in a matter of seconds, and it was off-putting to say the least, as he’d never been so overtly menacing. He chalked it up to the lack of sleep Minho must’ve gotten, but he also remembered Chan’s warning, about how Minho reacted to being ‘imposed upon.’ Jisung didn’t think he was being all that imposing, but maybe Minho saw it differently.

“Sorry, sorry,” Jisung piped, “it’s just that, I care about you, so—”

“No one asked you to,” Minho spat, turning away and bringing his coffee cup to the stove, setting it down and reaching for the fridge.

Jisung spun around, affronted. “What is your problem, today?”

“Nothing. Sorry,” Minho sighed, squeezing the bridge of his nose. “Ignore me. I’m just tired.”

Jisung scarcely believed that. Something else was the matter, that was clear. He carefully argued, “You’ve been ‘tired’ for weeks, but you haven’t been acting like this. Seriously, what’s going on?”

Minho stirred cream into his coffee, staring into it, and it at first appeared he didn’t plan on answering. Then, he pivoted to glance at Jisung, finally looking at him properly. “I . . . have a question, for you. Please answer honestly.”

“Okay?” Jisung invited him to continue.

“That . . . That thing, you said last night,” Minho went on, “did you mean it?”

Jisung tilted his head, unsure what he was referring to. He’d said a lot of things the day before. “What do you mean? What did I say?”

Minho looked at his feet. “You know. _That_ thing.”

Jisung’s lips parted, and he sucked in a breath. Oh. _That_ thing. He remembered, now, what he’d admitted, those words he’d been holding in finally escaping him. He hadn’t exactly intended to say them, then, they’d just slipped out—but that didn’t make them any less true.

He gulped, and said, “Yes. I meant it.”

“You did.” It came out as a statement, not a question. Minho’s lips were tight, held in a straight line, and he was still looking away. “It wasn’t just, like, a heat-of-the-moment thing?”

“Well, it was,” Jisung confessed, “but . . . I still meant what I said. Really. I guess it’s something I wanted to say for a while, and it just . . . came out. But yes, it’s true. I love—”

“Don’t.” Minho stopped him, turning away.

Jisung felt his heart start to sink. Confusion burned in his stomach. He thought Minho had asked him that because he was hoping it to be true, and wanted confirmation. Instead, it seemed like ‘truth’ was the last thing he’d wanted, and Jisung became overwhelmed by the most awful feeling he’d ever experienced, the sensation of the floor opening under his feet and swallowing him whole, of his substance leaving his body. He heard something break.

“W-Wait,” he sputtered, “what?”

Minho shook his head, and he laughed, darkly. “Don’t . . . Don’t say troubling things.”

“Troubling? How is that _troubling_?” Jisung’s voice was coming out cracked, and louder than he wanted it to. He took a step towards him. “What is up with you? I thought you’d be happy.”

“Happy?” Minho spun around, and suddenly his face was threateningly close. “I have too much to worry about right now, I don’t need . . . this. I don’t have the time or the energy to deal with you, okay? I just don’t.”

Jisung huffed audibly, turning a disbelieving smile to the ceiling. “ _Deal_ with me? What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what it sounds like. I have to deal with you, now,” Minho hissed. “You’re trying to drag me into something I don’t want, something I’ve _never_ wanted, without a single consideration for how I’d feel about it. You just do whatever you feel like. It’s fucking annoying.”

Jisung looked at him, eyebrows turned inwards. He felt like he’d just been shot, rocking back on his heels from the blow of Minho’s words. He whispered, “You . . . never wanted a relationship with me?”

Minho’s gaze was piercing through him, and cold like shards of ice. “We fuck. That’s it.”

“No. Hold on a second,” Jisung objected. He felt like he was going to puke, a huge lump rising in his throat, but he choked it back. “It wasn’t just about the sex. It was more than that and you know it. I mean, what did you _think_ we were?”

“I didn’t!” Minho shouted. He closed his eyes, breathing through his anger. Then, quieter, he went on, “I didn’t think. And it was easy that way. You know, I wasn’t sure what I wanted from this, but I knew I didn’t want anything complicated. But you . . . you’ve just made it complicated.”

He stalked away, disappearing down the hall, leaving his coffee on the stovetop. Jisung stood there, mouth open, shocked still. What just happened? It was like a bomb just went off in his face, and he’d been burned, skin singed and misplaced anger and confusion left steaming in his gut. That had gone wrong in the worst way possible. Minho didn’t feel the same. Minho didn’t want anything further with Jisung. Worst of all, Minho was upset with him. Yet, there was nowhere for either of them to go—they lived in the same house, for fuck’s sake. 

Jisung stayed in that exact spot for a very long time, staring at the tile floor, frozen like a statue, his thoughts vacant and his heart beating so hard it felt like it might jump out of his mouth. He could hear it pounding in his ears, his blood pumping, red-hot and full of rage and something worse, something sad. He was still there, in suspended animation, when Minho returned from his room, wearing his work clothes.

Minho stopped at the kitchen’s threshold. He murmured, “I’m sorry, Jisung. Can we talk later?”

Jisung kept staring at the floor, blinking back tears. “Yeah. Okay.”

Minho nodded brusquely, and he went to put his shoes on. Before he left, he said, “Bye.”

The door closed behind him, and there was silence—chilling, deafening silence. Jisung crumpled to the floor, suddenly losing all strength in his limbs. He’d never felt like this before, this feeling like the whole world had stopped turning, this feeling of being an empty shell, a husk of a man, devoid of any emotion. Numbness. He’d been so full of feelings the night before, but it had all left him, sucked out of him with his air, leaving . . . nothing. His skin had gone numb, too, unaware of all stimuli, to the point he didn’t even know he was crying until he saw his tears drip onto the floor in front of him. Only a couple, at first. Then more.

He sat there, on the floor, unmoving, for what must’ve been hours, crying, thinking. About what, he couldn’t name. He cried until his eyes hurt and his cheeks were sticky, until his body physically had no tears left to give, and he just sobbed and dry-heaved, shaking from a cold that wasn’t caused by the temperature. Distantly, he heard a noise, something buzzing. He thought it was his own ears, but it kept going, and the longer it went on, the more he started to realize it was coming from the living room.

Curiosity finally convinced him to move, so he peeled himself off the floor and stumbled towards the noise, collapsing on the couch when his legs gave up. He laid on his side, staring straight ahead. The sound was coming from his phone, lit-up and face-down on the coffee table, next to Minho’s open laptop. Another sob bubbled out of him, and he closed his eyes. He couldn’t move. He only hoped that whoever was calling would give up so the noise would stop. He just wanted everything to stop.

The ringing finally ceased. He sighed, relieved, and rolled over onto his belly, stuffing his face into the couch cushion as though he could shut out the world by doing so. It seemed to work. He laid there like a plank, wishing he could fall asleep, but it wouldn’t come. He wondered if this, the numbness, the emptiness, was what death felt like. Probably not. Life showed itself in the hunger that clawed at his stomach, in his heart that wouldn’t stop its incessant beating and his brain that wouldn’t shut up. He figured he should move, eventually. He couldn’t stay like this forever. He would have to pick himself up before Minho got home, he didn’t want Minho to see him like this.

Suddenly, there was another noise. It was a buzzing, again, but a different kind. It was louder, and coming from the foyer. Jisung groaned at length, and managed to get off the couch, shambling over to the intercom and pressing the red ‘TALK’ button.

“What?” he barked.

“Oh. So you _are_ alive.” It was Chan’s voice. “Let me in.”

Jisung grumbled, “Why?”

“Just do it, asshole,” Chan demanded.

With a loud sigh, he buzzed Chan inside, then unlocked the door so he could enter as he pleased and went back to lie on the couch. When he heard a knocking, he called out, “S’open!”

Chan let himself in and took off his shoes, glancing around until his eyes fell on Jisung’s corpse lying on the couch, and he let out a breath. “There you are, buddy. Had me scared for a second.”

“What do you want?” Jisung asked blandly.

“You didn’t answer your phone, and it’s past noon. I figured something was wrong,” Chan explained, sitting down beside Jisung’s head. He looked at Jisung’s reddened and puffy eyes, and his brow turned up in concern. “It seems I was right.”

Jisung scoffed. “Aren’t you a prophet.”

“I told you, it’s fatherly instincts,” Chan said warmly. “Here, sit up. I brought breakfast. And weed.”

He didn’t feel like getting up, but hunger got the better of him, so he slowly rose from his position to sit back properly, glancing over at Chan. It looked like he’d come straight from home, as his hair was messy and he was wearing the sweatpants he always slept in, the ones with a hole in the knee, and a hoodie. He had his backpack on his lap, and he unzipped it, taking out a bag of McDonald’s and setting it on the table.

“I didn’t get coffee, ‘cause I figured we can make it here,” Chan went on. “You still have a coffee maker, right?”

“Yeah, we have . . . a Keurig,” Jisung replied, and his eyes welled up with tears again.

Chan ruffled his hair comfortingly. “Oh, geez. Okay, you stay here, try to eat something. I’ll make us some coffee.”

He got up and went to the kitchen, noticing the cold cup of coffee that Minho had left discarded on the stovetop. He picked it up, glancing at it before turning to Jisung, about to question it, but decided better of it. He dumped the cup out and left it by the sink, then turned on the Keurig, preparing two new beverages and bringing them back to the living room with him.

Jisung had started munching absently on his sausage-n-egg McMuffin, staring blankly ahead with a glazed-over look in his eyes. Chan sat down next to him and watched him for a moment, concern showing in every one of his features—his shoulders bunched, his brows knitted together, the corners of his mouth turned slightly down. 

Cautiously, he started, “So . . . do you want to tell me what happened? If not, that’s okay, we can just watch TV or whatever.”

Jisung sighed. “I don’t know what to say about it, really. I’m still trying to make sense of it in my head.”

“Maybe I can help?” Chan offered.

“I doubt it,” Jisung muttered gently. He knew Chan had the best of intentions, but there really wasn’t much he could do to aid in this situation. It was something Jisung would have to figure out for himself. “Thing is . . . I confessed to Minho. I told him that I love him. And, as you can probably guess, it didn’t go well.”

Chan nodded slowly, understanding. “Ah. Well, that was brave of you, at least. You didn’t do anything wrong by telling him how you feel, even if it may seem that way.”

Jisung scoffed. He stuffed the rest of his McMuffin into his mouth and chewed it angrily, then he swallowed, and argued, “You didn’t hear what he said to me. You didn’t see his face. He was so . . . _viscerally_ upset. I think I fucked up big time.”

Chan hummed, absorbing that, while he took a long sip of his coffee. “I think it’s more complex than that. It’s unusual for someone to get _upset_ at a confession, especially considering all you’ve been through together up until this point. I mean, even if he didn’t want anything further, it’s kind of weird for him to be _upset_ , don’t you think?”

Jisung thought about that, rolling it over in his head. It hadn’t struck him before, but that _was_ weird, Minho’s reaction being so emotionally negative, it didn’t make sense. There was no reason for him to react the way he did—it could be that he was just tired, stressed-out, or something of the sort, but it still felt odd. It felt like there was more to it than Minho simply not wanting a relationship.

“It is strange. But either way, he was very upset,” Jisung said. “I have no idea why, but he was. Do you have any idea?”

Chan shrugged. “I think you’d know better than me.”

“Yeah, so you keep saying, but you’re better at reading people, and you’ve known Minho longer than I have,” Jisung objected. “Just ‘cause we’ve fucked doesn’t mean I can read his mind. I still hardly know him at all.”

“I think you know him more than you realize,” Chan insisted. “Look, I can’t be here to solve every problem you have with Minho. I’m happy to help when I can, of course, but if you want a lasting relationship with him, you need to learn how to figure him out yourself.”

Jisung chewed his lip. “So . . . what do you propose?”

“Think about it. Think real hard,” Chan pushed. “Why do you think he got upset when you tried to take it further with him?”

Jisung shrugged. “Maybe he hates me?”

“Come on, you know that’s not it,” Chan murmured, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, I know.” Jisung inhaled deeply. He racked his brain, touching a hand to his forehead, trying to bring sense to something and someone so confusing and mysterious, it was like solving an enigma. He tried, “Maybe . . . I mean, he doesn’t talk about it much, but I think Jamie really hurt him. So, what if he’s still hung up about that?”

Chan smiled. “See? You _do_ know him.”

“You think so, too, then?” Jisung wondered.

“That was my first thought,” Chan confirmed. “I was there when he was with Jamie. He’s not the most open person, so he didn’t tell me much about it, he didn’t even tell me they’d broken up until much later. But, from what I do know about it, it seemed to leave some scars, to say the least.”

“How much did he tell you?” Jisung asked. “All I know is, Minho dumped him before he and I met, and Jamie was two-timing Minho with some girl, and even Minho didn’t know that until a couple months ago. He also said that Jamie never seemed that into him, as they only ever fucked doggy-style.”

Chan’s eyebrows raised, and he puffed out a breath. “You know more than I do, then. Yikes. All I know is, Minho was with Jamie for a long time, like, half a year or more, and he was bored with their relationship but stayed in it because he didn’t have anywhere better to go. Personally, I think he stayed because he didn’t want to admit he’d ‘failed,’ again.”

“Again? What do you mean?” Jisung inquired.

“Well, it wasn’t just Jamie,” Chan said. “Minho is what you’d call a ‘perpetually single person.’ He has a history for falling in love with, frankly, pieces of shit. Usually, _straight_ pieces of shit. His heart has been beaten and broken more times than I think he can even count. He’d always chase after straight guys, fall for guys who’d attack him if they knew he liked them, or let himself get used by guys on the DL.”

Jisung made a confused expression. “DL?”

“ _Down-Low_ ,” Chan explained. “Y’know, like, gay guys who don’t want anyone to know they’re gay. They’re the types to have a lot of internalized homophobia and shame. My point is, Minho’s relationships have never been healthy. I think he’s damaged, and even more than that, afraid.”

Jisung nodded, feeling his stomach sink. He felt so bad for Minho, and once again, was hit with an overwhelming desire to protect him. “So you think he’s running away?”

Chan hummed. “Maybe. Or he just doesn’t want a relationship because he’s not ready, he doesn’t want to put himself through that heartache again. Anyway, the important thing is, it’s not your fault and it’s not about you, so if it doesn’t work out with Minho, don’t take it personally.”

“It’s not about taking it personally,” Jisung mumbled, squeezing his hands together in his lap. “I just . . . I’ve never felt like this before, about anyone. I like him _so_ much. I want to be with him, and if he doesn’t want that, I . . . It just hurts. So fucking bad. I don’t know what I’ll do without him.”

Chan swung an arm around him and rubbed his shoulder. “I know it hurts, but . . . we all find ways to move on, and you will too, if you have to. It’s just a broken heart, it’ll pass.”

“Not without a fight,” Jisung swore. “Minho asked to talk later, so, maybe something will come of that. Maybe if I can just make a better approach, he’ll . . . I don’t know. I guess we’ll see.”

“That’s a good attitude, but, you know you can’t force him, right? If his mind is made up . . .” Chan trailed off.

Jisung swallowed thickly. “I know. I just don’t want to think about that. Not yet, anyway.”

“Right. I understand,” Chan said. “Well . . . wanna go smoke?”

Jisung shot up from the couch. “Yes, _please_.”

Chan brought his backpack and they made their way out to the balcony, sitting on the patio chairs. He unzipped his bag and took out Avo, taking off the bubble wrap and setting it down on the ground, before unscrewing the top of his grinder and revealing the pile of fresh green.

Jisung picked up Avo, inspecting her shiny, transparent glass, and he whistled. “Damn, she cleans up nicely. Looks good as new.”

Chan chuckled. “Oh yeah, I gave her a good, deep cleanse last night. Res is some sticky, hard-to-remove shit, but it’s nothing a little soap and rubbing alcohol can’t fix.”

“Think you could clean BJ for us, when the time comes?” Jisung requested.

“BJ?” Chan asked.

“Blowjob. It’s our bong’s name,” Jisung explained. “Long story, don’t ask.”

Chan laughed. “Okay, I see. Yeah, I can do that.”

Jisung was given the first hit, so he packed the bowl tightly and ripped it in one go, as much as it hurt his lungs to do so. He coughed as the smoke left his mouth, but it was a welcome pain, as the plan was to get absolutely smashed so he couldn’t think about everything going on. 

Chan began packing his own bowl, and he carefully asked, “So, what do you like most about Minho? If you want to talk about it.”

Jisung, dizzy from the sativa clouding his brain, giggled softly. “I don’t know. There’s so many things. I love his stupid fuckin’ laugh. I love how his eyes change depending what he’s looking at. I love the way he talks to the cats like they’re humans. I love his weird taste in music and TV. I love his passion for things, like dancing and his work. I love how his ears get red when he’s shy. I love his little smile. And, whoo! That ass! He’s tighter than a fucking drum!”

“Okay, alright, TMI,” Chan stopped him. “That’s cute, though. You’ve got it bad.”

“Yeah, I do,” Jisung sighed wistfully. “I told you, I don’t know what I’ll do if . . . Fuck. Give me that.”

Jisung reached out a hand. Chan finished his hit and passed Avo over to him, and he packed another fat bowl, enough to fuck him up for more than a couple hours. He smoked it all, relishing in the sting, and blew out the cloud, managing only a small cough. Once Jisung was faded enough that it’d become hard to see, Chan poured Avo out over the balcony and packed her up, leading the wobbly Jisung back inside and helping him sit down on the couch.

Just then, the door rang again, and Jisung looked around, puzzled. Chan announced, “Oh! Perfect timing. I’ll get it.”

Chan walked to the foyer and buzzed the mystery guest inside the building, waiting by the door until there came a knock, and he let them in. It was Hyunjin, his hair down and a stupid grin on his face, and he strolled in and made himself at home, kicking his shoes off and lying back on the couch.

“What’re you doing here?” Jisung asked, dazed.

“Oh, I invited him, I hope that’s okay,” Chan admitted. “I figured you needed someone to cheer you up, and who better than Jinnie? Also, I have to go to work, and I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

Jisung snorted. “Work? You just smoked.”

Chan waved a hand. “Bah, I only had one hit. Besides, I’ve shown up high before, they can never tell.”

Hyunjin glanced over. “I can leave, if you want to be alone.”

“Nah. Chan’s right, being alone probably wouldn’t be best for me, right now,” Jisung said.

“Alright, well, you guys have fun. Jin, take care of him, yeah?” Chan directed, picking up his backpack and slinging it over one shoulder. “I should get going, I have to change before my shift. See you guys tomorrow.”

They waved him off. Hyunjin sat up a little, and gave Jisung a long, searching look. He began, “So, Channie didn’t tell me much, just that you were ‘not doing too good.’ Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“Not right now. I’m too high, and I’m tired of thinking about it,” Jisung muttered. “Can we just watch TV?”

Hyunjin nodded, grabbing the remote. “Yeah, sure.”

He went to Netflix and, at Jisung’s request, put on an episode of _Blue Planet_. They watched that, among other nature and animal-rescue shows, for several hours, until the light outside the windows started to dim. Jisung’s brain had long since checked-out, and he was hardly paying attention to the TV, staring blankly at the images of wildlife while his high took him to Neverland. Hyunjin seemed worried about him, constantly glancing in his direction, but he didn’t say anything, and Jisung was grateful for that. His presence was enough.

Absently, he checked the time. It was past five-o’clock, and Jisung realized with a start that it had nearly been eight hours since Minho had left the house. He sprang up from the couch and exclaimed, “Shit! Minho will be home soon. We have to go.”

“What? Oh, uh, okay,” Hyunjin stammered, getting up as well. “Do you want to sleep over at my place tonight?”

Jisung shook his head. “No, I should . . . I should come back eventually, ‘cause Minho wanted to talk, but . . . I’m not ready yet. Let’s just go somewhere, anywhere.”

“Alright. You lead the way,” Hyunjin agreed.

They hurriedly put their shoes and jackets on and scurried out the door, making a quick pace down the sidewalk. Jisung didn’t know where he was going, but he let his feet lead the way towards the city, where all the shops were, making sure to stay well away from Minho’s route home. Eventually, when they’d travelled a decent distance from home, his feet came to a stop in front of a store, and both he and Hyunjin looked up at the sign above them.

“A liquor store?” Hyunjin commented.

“The heart wants what the heart wants.” Jisung grimaced.

He led the way inside and perused the shelves, looking for the cheapest and largest bottle of hard liquor he could find, eventually settling on a bottle of White Lightning vodka that was big enough to fill a pitcher. He also grabbed a two-litre of Breezer for chase, and marched up to the counter with both in hand. Hyunjin followed after him aimlessly, looking like he wanted to say something, but he ultimately held his tongue.

Jisung paid for the alcohol and left the store, leading Hyunjin to a nearby park and sitting heavily on a bench. He didn’t exactly know what he was doing or why, but he was still high, and his thoughts had left him long ago—now, he was just following his basic instinct, and that instinct was telling him this was something he needed, so he didn’t question it.

“So, what, we’re just drinking in a park?” Hyunjin muttered. “What are we, fifteen?”

“I don’t know. I just want to get drunk,” Jisung said. “You don’t have to join me.”

Hyunjin sat down apprehensively. “Wait . . . didn’t you say you’re supposed to talk to Minho later? Do you think this is a good idea?”

“I’m not gonna get _that_ drunk, I just need to take the edge off,” Jisung insisted. 

“Yeah, that’s what they all say,” Hyunjin remarked. 

“I’m scared, okay? I’m scared and I’m sad and I’m angry as all Hell,” Jisung grumbled. “If I had to talk to him sober . . . I don’t think I could. I don’t think it would go well.”

“And you think talking to him drunk would be _better_?” Hyunjin argued.

Jisung huffed. “I don’t care. I bought it, I’m drinking it.”

With that, he unscrewed the cap of the vodka and took a long, gulping swig of it, washing it down with the Breezer. Hyunjin just watched, helplessly, before he shrugged and took a shot himself. Deep down, Jisung knew this was a bad idea, but something had been set off inside him, something horrible that he hated but couldn’t stop. It was like a need to destroy—he didn’t know _what_ , but something, it wanted destruction and anguish, it was like he was drowning in it. The words Chan had said to him kept playing over and over in his head, and he just needed them to stop, he needed something to make them go away before they drove him mad. 

_You can’t force him_. 

_His mind is made up_. 

_We all find ways to move on_. 

_It’s just a broken heart_.

He didn’t want to move on, he didn’t want to feel broken, he hated this emptiness and this sensation of the world crashing and burning around him. He was just tired, and full of hatred towards nothing, just a fiery glow of rage in his chest that he couldn’t stand. All of this was too new to him, he wasn’t used to it, he didn’t know how to handle it, this rapid careen off the edge of a cliff into nothingness, the realization that the one and only person he loved more than anyone else did not love him back.

It was unbearable.

“So . . . do you want to tell me what happened, now?” Hyunjin asked gently, sipping from the bottle of Breezer.

“I told Minho I love him and he basically told me to fuck off. That’s what happened,” Jisung muttered, taking another gulp of vodka without even cringing at the taste. 

Hyunjin puffed out his cheeks. “Oh, wow. Really?”

Jisung sighed. “I mean, yes and no. He said he only ever wanted to fuck, that he didn’t want a serious relationship. Or, what was the word he used . . . Ah! ‘Complicated.’ He said he didn’t want anything ‘complicated.’ He got mad at me and shit. I’m just . . . I feel so torn in half. Like, all I did was tell him honestly how I feel, and this is how he treats me?”

“Okay, whoa, there. That’s the alcohol talking,” Hyunjin warned him.

“No, it isn’t. I’m not even drunk yet.” Jisung scowled, and he took another swig. “I mean, all I said was ‘I love you.’ How is that _complicated_? And you know what else? He said it’s ‘troubling.’ He said he has to ‘deal with me.’ I mean, there are nicer ways to reject someone. What an asshole.”

Hyunjin made a sound, screwing up his face. “Well, yeah, but . . . He’s just been stressed, lately. And he has a bad history with relationships, so I’ve heard. Don’t be too hard on him, I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I guess not,” Jisung relented, sighing. He knocked back another shot. “It’s not fair. He led me on, y’know? If he only wanted a friends-with-benefits deal, he could’ve said so, and we wouldn’t be in this situation. But he didn’t, did he? He’s never honest with his feelings. No, he just cuddled with me and kissed me to get me into bed. I mean, talk about mixed signals.”

“Yeah. You’re right about that.” Hyunjin nodded. “I mean, he was way too lovey-dovey towards you if all he wanted was to fuck. I’ve had a friend-with-benefits before, and I’ve had fuck buddies, and it’s nothing like that. You just have sex, that’s it, no strings attached. But Minho was intimate with you in ways that weren’t sexual, so it’s super odd that he’d suddenly say he doesn’t like you more than . . . that.”

Jisung drank more, and the bottle was starting to feel lighter in his hands. “The worst part is, he didn’t exactly _say_ he doesn’t like me. He just . . . heavily implied it. See, even now, he’s not being totally honest. He’s still acting all mysterious and wishy-washy. He should just give it to me straight, he should’ve done that from the start. It would’ve saved both of us a lot of time.”

Hyunjin countered, “It’s not all on him, though. You could’ve been up-front as well.”

“I _have_ been up-front. I’m the one being open, here,” Jisung argued. “The difference is, I didn’t know exactly what I wanted with him until now, so I was just taking it slow, seeing where it goes. By the sounds of it, he knew he only wanted a fuck since the beginning.”

“I guess that’s true,” Hyunjin yielded. “I don’t know what else I can say, then. This is all so messy. I’m sorry you’re going through this, Jisung. It’s beyond shitty.”

Jisung huffed in agreement and took another shot. “Whatever. I’m tired of talking about this, today.”

From there, he let Hyunjin head the conversation, for he was nothing if not extremely talkative. He listened with one ear while Hyunjin told him about his job, his classes, the girl he’d had sex with, and other menial topics, while he just drank away his worries. By eight o’clock, he was cold, exhausted, and horrendously drunk, and he could no longer pay attention to anything Hyunjin said to him. So, he finally agreed to be walked home, leaning his weight on Hyunjin and stumbling along, his vision swaying and his stomach churning. But at least he was no longer thinking of things he’d rather not think about.

By the time he made it back to the apartment, he’d long since blacked out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think of this chapter in the comments! Your feedback really helps my motivation, and I love hearing from you guys!
> 
> Twitter:   
> [mediochris](https://twitter.com/mediochris)
> 
> Playlists:  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4ma2hDqtwQ5mcIkDEr5tVr?si=KYINhj5WQZSbduUXz_NMJQ&utm_source=copy-link)  
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	22. November Was White, December Was Grey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all!
> 
> Welcome, already, to another chapter! I'm just flying through these, oh my. Something about angst just really gets my juices flowing, apparently! This is another short one, as well, I think it's our shortest chapter yet. Sorry that the lengths haven't held up, I hope that's not an issue for anyone :)
> 
> I'm going to do something I wouldn't usually do and give you all a Pro Tip: I would suggest re-reading Chapter 7 ("Blinding Lights") before or after this chapter, as there are a couple of callbacks that may go over your head since it's been so long.
> 
> Anyway, as always, if you haven't already, be sure to follow me on Twitter (@/mediochris) and turn my notifications on so you don't miss any MITS-related content! Also, for the full experience, make sure you check out the "Molasses in the Sky" playlists on Spotify, YouTube, and Apple Music. Links to all three playlists can be found in my pinned thread on Twitter, and at the bottom of this chapter!
> 
> This chapter is named after the song "November Was White, December Was Grey" by Say Hi!
> 
> Happy reading~

_Well someday soon, when the spring brings the sun,_   
_I’ll finally sleep, I’ll finally feel better when the winter’s gone._

Jisung woke up to find his body half-on-half-off the couch, still wearing the same clothes he was the day before, and as soon as he opened his eyes he was met with a piercing headache that felt like Satan pushing one long fingernail through his forehead. He groaned, loudly, and shifted in place, and as soon as he moved, he felt his stomach turn horribly. Quickly, he covered his mouth and scrambled to his feet, rushing to the bathroom and just barely making it to the toilet, where he vomited up everything his body had in it—which, by now, was mostly just liquid.

Once his stomach had finally settled, he sat back against the wall and flushed the toilet, closing his eyes. He tried to recall what had happened the night before, but he couldn’t remember anything after leaving the park with Hyunjin, and besides his head was pounding so much that it was hard to think. He carded both hands through his hair and sighed, when he heard someone approach, and he looked up.

Minho was standing in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and his posture stiff. He looked mad. “What the fuck, Jisung?”

“I’m sorry, I . . . Shit,” Jisung whispered, hanging his head. “Can you get the Advil for me?”

Minho scoffed. “You have some nerve. Get it yourself.”

He turned and left, heavy footsteps receding down the hall. Jisung got up quickly, swaying on his feet, and stumbled after him, calling out, “Wait! Weren’t we going to talk about things?”

“Oh, we talked, all right,” Minho snapped, still walking away, finally stopping by the Keurig, where a cup of coffee waited for him.

“Wh-What . . . We did?” Jisung stammered, leaning against the counter for support. “I . . . I was drunk, so—”

“Yeah. I’m well fucking aware you were drunk,” Minho reprimanded, staring daggers into him. “You smelled like a fucking pub. You still do.”

Jisung looked at his feet, ashamed. “Well, could we . . . talk again? Since I don’t really remember—”

“I’m sure you don’t,” Minho cut him off. He took a long sip of his coffee before continuing. “There’s no need to talk anymore. You made your stance pretty fucking clear.”

“Wait, what did I say?” Jisung asked. His voice was shaking.

Minho smiled venomously. “Oh, nothing. Just that falling in love with me was a mistake, that you never should’ve wasted your time with a cold, emotionless bitch like me. Something about Jeremy being ‘right,’ which, what he has to do with this is beyond me.”

Jisung felt his blood run cold, and his breathing went ragged. He blubbered, “N-No, I . . . I couldn’t have said that . . .”

“You think I’d make this up? You know, I thought we could handle this like adults, but I guess not,” Minho muttered. “You also narrowly avoided puking on the carpet. I had to hold your mouth closed and bring you to the bathroom. Fucking disgusting.”

“Minho, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean what I said, honestly,” Jisung tried, his eyes starting to sting. “I do want to handle this like an adult—”

“Save it,” Minho stopped him, icily. “If you did, you wouldn’t have gone and drank. You’re just a child.”

Jisung’s nostrils flared. “Well, can you blame me? After how rudely you shot me down yesterday? After you led me on for over a month? Stop acting like you’re any better than I am.”

Minho slammed his coffee down, the drink spilling off the counter and onto the floor, and he got up in Jisung’s face. “I came home last night ready to talk it over, ready to apologize for being so harsh. I waited for _two hours_ for you to come home, and when you did, you were stumbling and slurring, you were angry, you were yelling at me, saying horrible shit to me, and you wouldn’t let me get a word in. Are you telling me I’m to blame for that? That I deserved it? Get over yourself.”

Jisung’s upper lip curled, and he yelled back, “I’m trying to apologize, here! I said I’m sorry! I know what I did was fucking stupid, and I didn’t mean to say what I said! I take it back! Okay? I take it back.”

“I told you to save it. There’s no taking it back,” Minho hissed. “This conversation is over. We’re gonna be late for practice, so get changed.”

With that, Minho collected his stuff and left the apartment, apparently intending to walk to the studio himself. Probably for the best. Jisung growled under his breath—he was impossible to talk to, and he’d been nothing but unfair since their falling-out yesterday. Yet, what bothered Jisung the most was that he was now partially to blame for their current standing. He’d known last night that it was a bad idea to drink, but he did it anyway, and he’d ended up hurting Minho, which was the last thing he ever wanted to do, especially now. 

He stalked to his room, still red-faced with irritation, and he changed into fresh clothes, a hoodie and sweatpants. He collected his things and tied up his runners, then left the suite, making his way to campus. He was dreading having to do any sort of work, especially dancing, especially with his friends, especially with Minho. There was no getting out of it, though, so he’d just have to suck it up and try to be professional, like nothing was wrong.

He arrived at the studio and dropped his bag next to Hyunjin’s, a pointedly fair distance from Minho’s bag, and he joined the group in doing warm-up stretches. There was a weird tension that gripped the room, rolling off of Jisung and Minho in waves, Hyunjin and Chan looking wary of it while Seungmin and Jeongin seemed too tired to notice and Felix and Changbin were blissfully unaware. 

“Okay, so, let’s run it once,” Chan announced. “I’ll play the instrumental, and we’ll be singing it out loud while we dance. I hope you’ve been practicing.”

Jisung rolled his eyes. He had not practiced, and Chan knew that. He also knew why. He’d just have to make it work somehow, even though he could hardly remember the lyrics and he was in too much pain to even attempt dancing. This was not going to be a good practice.

They ran the song, and as expected, Jisung was all over the place the whole time, mumbling through his lines and tripping over his two left feet. The song wasn’t even halfway over when Minho stopped dancing, walked over to the stereo, and turned the music off.

“Jisung, get your shit together,” Minho barked. The room was stunned silent at his tone, casting glances at one another. “You’re fucking us all up. Figure it out.”

Jisung muttered under his breath, “Yeah, yeah.”

Chan stepped in, touching Minho gently on the shoulder. “Okay, let’s relax, huh? How about this. We’ll sing it once standing still, then do the choreography once without singing, then we’ll bring the two together. Cool?”

Everyone agreed, so Chan counted them in, and Seungmin started with his line. Changbin completed his rap flawlessly, and when Jisung’s turn to sing came, he noticed Minho watching him like a hawk, which made him nervous, so he flubbed the notes. He saw Minho’s eyebrow twitch. 

When it came time for him to rap, he forgot half the lyrics, and midway through his verse, he gave up, placing his head in his hands. Minho audibly scoffed, turning back to the stereo to turn the music off, again.

“Find the note, Jisung. Learn your fucking lyrics. Haven’t you practiced?” he scolded, hands on his hips. 

“No! I haven’t! And you know damn well why!” Jisung shouted, throwing up his hands. 

Minho sneered, “Yeah, ‘cause you were too busy getting drunk.”

“How about this. You worry about the dance, and _I’ll_ worry about how I sing. Capiche?” Jisung growled.

“Clearly, you’re not worrying about how you sing, because you’re a fucking mess,” Minho seethed. “The rest of us have been working our asses off, so pull your fucking weight. You know the performance is in three days, right?”

Jisung hollered, “I know! I fucking know, okay? Get off my fucking dick!”

“Oh, trust me, I’m not on your dick. And I never will be again,” Minho spat.

“ _Enough_!” Chan intervened, getting in between them. “Break time, now. You two come with me.”

Chan all but dragged them both out to the hall, standing in front of them with his arms crossed. Neither of them could meet his gaze, which burned into them, blazing with disappointment.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into you two, but snap out of it,” Chan ordered. “I know you’re at odds, but this is a _team_ effort. We’re in this together whether you like it or not. So leave your baggage at the door and act like professionals. Got it?”

“Yes, Chan.” Minho sighed.

“Sorry, Chan.” Jisung scratched his arm.

“Good,” Chan huffed. “Minho, quit being so hard on him, it’s humiliating and unfair, and it helps no one. Jisung, pull it together, I know you’re struggling but you’ve got this. Are we good?”

Minho nodded. “Yes, we’re good.”

Jisung bit his lip. “Won’t happen again.”

Chan shook his head and reentered the studio, Minho and Jisung following after him. They jumped back into practice, the energy in the room awkward, yet strictly professional. The group worked hard, managing to pull together a decent-enough performance before time ran out, yet they were still well behind where they needed to be in terms of poise and skill. The clock struck two, and Chan called it quits on practice for the day, since they had to clear out before the next group arrived.

“We’ll get this, we will. Make sure you all practice in your own time, _no matter_ what you’ve got going on in your lives,” Chan directed, with a pointed look at Jisung and Minho. “For now, though, take a rest. We’ll reconvene tomorrow and see where we’re at.”

They all went to gather their bags, all but Minho, who, as per usual, planned to stay until he was kicked out. Jisung couldn’t care less about that anymore, though—if he wanted to work himself to the grave, that was his business. It wasn’t Jisung’s problem anymore.

As he made for the door, Chan came up and stopped him, touching a hand softly to his shoulder. He asked, in a low voice so Minho wouldn’t hear, “So, did you guys manage to talk, at all?”

“No, not really. Well, sort of, I guess,” Jisung mumbled. “Except I was blackout drunk when it happened and apparently I said some pretty stupid stuff. I tried to apologize but Minho won’t give me the time of day.”

Chan inhaled a deep breath. “That’s . . . Yeah, that’s not good. He’s angry right now, so I’d give him space, but try to talk to him properly soon, huh? Ideally _before_ the performance, if possible. You guys are getting nowhere like this.”

Jisung scoffed quietly. “I’m ready to talk anytime. I’m just waiting for him to get over his victim complex.”

Chan gave him a hard look. “Hey. That kind of thinking is exactly what’s going to bury any future between you two six-feet under. If you don’t want to be with him anymore, just tell him that and be done with it, but if you want to fix it, then fix it.”

“I hear you,” Jisung muttered. 

“See you tomorrow, Jisung,” Chan said, waving farewell.

Jisung cast one final, sour glare at Minho before leaving the studio, finding Hyunjin in the hall waiting for him. Hyunjin pushed himself off the wall and swung an arm heftily around Jisung’s shoulders, jiggling him, which made Jisung’s brain rattle around in his skull and he had to hold his forehead as another wave of his headache came on.

“Hey, buddy,” Hyunjin piped, “how ya holdin’ up?”

“Just peachy,” Jisung grunted.

Hyunjin nodded sagely. “I can see that. I know what you need. Come with me.”

Without pause for complaint, he was dragged along outside the building, to the bustling hub in the center of campus, and Jisung had to shut his eyes, trusting Hyunjin not to let him run into anything. The sun was too bright and the world was too noisy, and all he wished for was to wrap himself up like a dumpling in his bed and fall asleep. He was sweaty from practice, his breath still tasted like vodka, he was overdue for a shower, and his hair was a mess. It was not his day to be out in public.

Hyunjin dragged him off-campus and a few blocks into town, finally coming to a stop at a bubble tea place. Jisung squinted up at the sign and remarked, “This is it? This is what I need right now?”

“Of course,” Hyunjin insisted. “It’s a little-known fact that boba is a miracle hangover cure. You’ll thank me later.”

Jisung didn’t know if he believed that, but he reluctantly followed Hyunjin inside, and immediately felt like he might throw up again as the sweet smell of tea hit his nostrils. They got in line behind a couple of girls with long, flowing hair who stunk of perfume, which did not help Jisung’s nausea at all, so he distracted himself with the menu.

“Trust me on this, you’ll want to go with a green-tea variant. Insane stuff. And get pearls, too, I find chewing on them helps relieve my headaches,” Hyunjin explained. Jisung had no idea what he was on about, but he followed his advice, ordering green milk tea with pearls once it was their turn at the till.

They stood off to the side to wait, Jisung sticking his hands in his hoodie pocket while Hyunjin browsed his social media, making absentminded comments to himself as he scrolled. Jisung yawned dramatically, the robotic whirring of the shaker machine acting like a lullaby, nearly putting him to sleep. 

“Wait, no way . . . Han Jisung?” Came a voice from behind.

He turned around slowly, stunned. This person knew his name, his _real_ name, and even more than that, she pronounced it perfectly. He regarded the speaker—it was one of the perfumed girls they’d gotten in line behind, and she was looking at him with a sparkle in her eye, like she couldn’t believe he was real. She had long, wavy brown hair, with pretty, subdued makeup and very nice clothes, a long white coat over a white lace top and pink skirt, and strappy high-heels. She was Korean, that was clear to see in her features, and Jisung squinted at her, recognizing her face but being unable to place it.

“Oh my gosh, and Hwang Hyunjin, too!” she exclaimed, laughing. “This is so crazy! Remember me?”

It hit him suddenly, who she was, the recognition slapping him in the face. Jisung remarked, “Holy shit, _Namhee_?”

Hyunjin gasped and covered his mouth in disbelief. “Whoa, no fucking way! Kang Namhee! What are you doing in LA?”

She giggled. “I go to USC! And it’s just Bree, now, no one really calls me ‘Namhee’ anymore.”

Her English was flawless, indicating she’d been in California for some time, possibly having moved here right out of high school. Jisung felt dizzy, being face-to-face with a ghost from his past—Kang Namhee, his first love and eighth-grade flame, was standing right in front of him, all grown-up and prettier than ever. He suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. He looked like such a slob compared to her, in his sweatpants and baggy hoodie, and he probably smelled even worse.

The person Bree was with, a girl with straight black hair and a cashmere sweater tucked into wide-legged blue jeans, stepped forward. “Wait, who are these people?”

Bree chuckled. “This is Hyunjin and Jisung, we went to high school together back in Korea. Jisung and I actually dated, for a short time. Boys, this is my friend, Selena.”

Selena’s mouth fell open, and she looked at Jisung. “Oh! He’s—! Yeah, I remember you mentioning him before, wow.”

“This is frickin’ nuts, I had no idea you guys were here!” Bree squealed, wiggling excitedly. “Are you studying, or here for work?”

“Studying. UCLA,” Hyunjin answered. Jisung was still too stunned to speak.

Selena grinned. “Hey, me too! I just got out of class, and Bree met me over here. This is such a wild coincidence, running into you.”

It _was_ a wild coincidence. Like, a fate-sealed, stars-aligning, divine-intervention kind of wild coincidence. USC was a great distance from the UCLA area, almost an hour drive, so the two of them easily could’ve completed all their schooling without even knowing about their proximity—if they hadn’t both happened to be in this exact bubble tea shop at the exact same time.

“Jesus, it’s been a really long time, hasn’t it?” Bree sighed. “I mean, I guess not, in the grand scheme of things, but . . . I mean, two years, dang. It feels like a lifetime ago.”

Hyunjin chuckled, nodding along. “Yeah. You’ve changed a lot, Miss Kang. Like, talk about a glow-up.”

Bree smiled bashfully and waved her hand dismissively. “No, hardly! And look at you, Mister Hwang! You’re one to talk, look at your hair! Didn’t you have a bowl cut the last time I saw you?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” Hyunjin shuddered.

“And you, Han Jisung . . . wow,” Bree remarked, turning to him and giving him a flirtatious look. “I see you got rid of those dopey glasses, huh? You look good.”

Jisung scratched his arm nervously. “Ha, thanks. Y-You do, too.”

Hyunjin grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Oh, he’s a chick magnet, this one! You just can’t keep the girls off him, he’s irresistible!”

Jisung nudged him away and held up a palm. “No, he’s exaggerating.”

“Irresistible? I can see why,” Bree commented, batting her lashes. “Well, we’re on a time crunch, ‘cause Sel has another class in a couple hours, but we should catch up properly! Give me your phone, I’ll put my number in.”

She held out a hand, specifically in Jisung’s direction. He took out his phone and unlocked it, placing it in her palm, and watched her quickly add herself as a contact. 

She handed his phone back and started towards the counter, where her bubble tea was waiting. “Text me so I can get your digits. See you guys soon?”

“Yeah, totally,” Jisung confirmed, waving her and Selena off.

As soon as they were gone, Hyunjin latched onto him again and starting jumping up and down, making an irritating squeeing noise. “Dude, yes! See, I was right, coming here was _exactly_ what you needed! She’s fucking smokin’! That’ll take your mind off all the shit with Minho, right?”

Right, Minho. Jisung had stopped thinking about him for the past several minutes. He sighed heavily. “I don’t think I need to be jumping into anything, especially so soon.”

“Well, you can’t stay broken-hearted forever,” Hyunjin huffed. “If Minho let you get away, it’s his loss.”

He was right, unfortunately. He couldn’t mope around forever, and if Minho wanted an end to their relationship, it was out of his hands. He’d have to move on eventually, and maybe a distraction could be good for him. If nothing else, it’d be nice to form a friendship with Bree, as his circle of Korean friends was strikingly small, and they were all men. A little diversity in his life could be beneficial.

Their bubble tea orders came, and they collected them off the counter and made their way outside, wandering around until they found a bench to sit on. Jisung sucked down a gulp of his tea, chewing on the pearls, finding that they did, in fact, ease his headache. Maybe Hyunjin wasn’t just talking out of his ass, after all.

“So, what _is_ going on with you and Minho, anyway?” Hyunjin wondered, teeth smacking on his coconut jelly. “I’m guessing your talk . . . didn’t go well?”

“No, it did not,” Jisung muttered, matter-of-factly. “It was an absolute shitstorm, it went about as bad as it possibly could’ve. Or so I’m told, since I don’t actually remember any of it.”

Hyunjin exhaled a shaky, gasping breath. “Oh, shit, you were blackout?”

“Yeah, _duh_. I was practically sleeping on your shoulder while you carried me home,” Jisung scoffed. 

“Well, I knew you were drunk, but I didn’t realize you were quite _that_ drunk,” Hyunjin mentioned.

“I was, and I think I really fucked it up,” Jisung lamented. “Like, supremely, massively, exponentially fucked it up. If he didn’t hate me before, he sure as fuck does now.”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes. “He doesn’t _hate_ you. He knows you were just drunk and didn’t mean anything you said, right?”

Jisung shook his head. “He seems convinced I meant every word. I tried to apologize, but he wouldn’t have it. He’s still being really unfair.”

“Well . . . what did you say?” Hyunjin wondered, worriedly.

“He told me I said something like ‘loving you was a mistake,’ and apparently I insulted him a bunch. I also almost puked on him,” Jisung rambled. 

Hyunjin cringed. “Ooh, yep, that’ll do it. Christ, that’s bad. I’m sorry, man, you might be fucked.”

“Thanks. You’re so helpful,” Jisung drawled sarcastically.

“Sorry, sorry,” Hyunjin backpedalled, “maybe there’s still a chance. Big maybe. I mean, Minho’s the type to hold a grudge, but, if you’re genuinely sorry about it, once he’s cooled off he might accept your apology.”

Jisung sucked his teeth, making a shrill whistling sound. “I don’t know. I’m still kinda mad at him, too. Like, he treated me like I’m a child, like I’m irresponsible, as if I got drunk just for the heck of it. He hardly acknowledges what he put me through. I don’t want to call it quits just yet, but . . . I’m just so angry.”

“That’s only natural. It’s common for lovers to get angry at each other. It means they have enough interest in each other, that they even bother to get upset,” Hyunjin pointed out.

Jisung grumbled, “We’re not lovers, remember? That’s the whole problem.”

“Well you sure fight like lovers,” Hyunjin argued.

Jisung looked at him, a little taken aback by his sudden spark of wisdom. It was true that, if Jisung didn’t care about Minho, he wouldn’t bother getting upset, and by that logic, it was probably the same for Minho. It was like what Chan had said the day before—it was strange for Minho to become so bent out of shape over a confession, and if he didn’t care about Jisung, why would he give two shits about Jisung’s drunken words? He was hurt by what Jisung said. That means he _does_ care, even if he wants to pretend he doesn’t.

“Maybe this _is_ fixable,” Jisung murmured, swirling his bubble tea around in his cup.

Hyunjin clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Go on, soldier, get yo’ mans!”

They finished their teas and deposited the cups in the garbage can, then spent the rest of the day wandering around town, peeking into shops and looking at all the weird and wonderful items on display, including strange pieces of fabric with ludicrous price tags that were probably considered ‘high-fashion’ and an array of odd little knickknacks. Jisung scarcely stopped himself from making any stupid purchases, while Hyunjin splurged on funky graphic tees and socks with funny pictures and phrases on them. They came across a pet shop, and Hyunjin excitedly begged to go inside, so Jisung reluctantly followed.

“Maybe you should get a pet. Y’know, a dog is a _great_ remedy for a broken heart,” Hyunjin suggested, before he put his face up next to the hamster cage and made kissy noises at them.

“I can’t get a pet, dumbass. The house is already too full with Minho’s cats,” Jisung objected, crossing his arms.

Hyunjin pursed his lips, humming. “That’s true, I guess. But if things fall out with Minho, you might end up living alone.”

Jisung clicked his tongue and said, “Can you stop talking like that? I feel like you’re jinxing me.”

“I’m just being realistic!” Hyunjin defended loudly.

They migrated over to a large cage in the center of the store, and at first, it appeared empty, until a white-furred head popped out from under a pile of blankets and sniffed up at them, its eyes locked with Hyunjin.

“What the heck is that? Looks like a huge rat.” Jisung grimaced.

“It’s a ferret, stupid,” Hyunjin scoffed. “You know, for someone who watches _Nat Geo_ , like, religiously, you sure know nothing about animals.”

Jisung shrugged. The white ferret slowly crawled out from under the blankets, and it stood up by the edge of the cage, its front paws against the bars and its little pink nose twitching as it sniffed the air. Even if it did look like a long rat, Jisung had to admit, it was kind of cute. Hyunjin kneeled down to look at it closer, and he poked its paw-pad through the bars.

He whispered, “I want it. I think it wants me, too.”

Jisung looked down at him, his eyebrow tweaked. “You’re gonna buy a ferret? Why?”

“It gets lonely in my apartment, all by myself,” Hyunjin complained. “And look at it! It’s so friendly, I think it’d be good company. We could watch dramas together, I could dress it up, maybe even take it for walks.”

“You can’t walk a _ferret_ ,” Jisung said pointedly.

“Sure you can! Look, they’ve got little mini harnesses over there,” Hyunjin countered, gesturing to a rack against the wall that was full of leashes for ferrets and guinea pigs. Jisung chuckled disbelievingly.

Hyunjin stood up and approached the lady at the front desk, asking, “Has this ferret been adopted, yet?”

The lady shook her head. “No. All his friends have been bought, but he’s all alone. It’s sad. Ferrets are social animals, they should come in twos.”

“Can I put a hold on him? I can come back tomorrow and pick him up,” Hyunjin went on, hopping on his heels.

“You’re seriously gonna buy the ferret?” Jisung murmured.

Hyunjin pouted at him. “Yes! Look how lonely he is!”

“If you make the payment now, he’s yours,” said the lady. 

Hyunjin did a little happy-dance and approached the desk. Jisung waited while he completed the transaction, looking at the ferret, which still had his paws up on the bars. He seemed young, fluffy and white, with pink paws and a pink nose and little, beady black eyes. As much as Jisung thought this purchase was silly and impulsive, when the ferret squeaked at him, he felt his heart melt a little.

Hyunjin finished making the payment and knelt back in front of the cage, poking the ferret’s paw again. “Wait for me, okay little buddy? I’ll come back tomorrow. You’ll be my new friend!”

“Did you hear what that lady said? They should be bought in twos,” Jisung mentioned. “Are you gonna get another one?”

Hyunjin shrugged and straightened up. “Dunno. Maybe. I think it’d be nice for him to have a pal, for when I’m not home.”

“Jesus. You’ve gone off the deep end,” Jisung quipped.

They left the pet shop, Hyunjin waving good-bye to his new ferret, and they started making their way back home. Jisung was dreading having to talk to Minho, and a part of him really hoped he’d be out, if only so he wouldn’t have to face him. No such luck, though, for after separating from Hyunjin and entering his apartment, he found Minho sitting on the couch, the TV playing _The Drew Barrymore Show_ while he typed away on his laptop.

Jisung kicked off his shoes and tip-toed apprehensively into the suite, as if he hoped Minho wouldn’t notice him. Indeed, it seemed Minho didn’t notice him, or he was just ignoring him. Probably the latter. Jisung had almost made it to the hallway when he stopped, something holding him back from disappearing. He sighed, deciding he’d have to suck it up, and he spun on his heels, facing Minho.

“Can we _please_ talk? Properly this time?” he begged.

Minho didn’t look up from his laptop. “No. I have nothing to talk to you about.”

“Bullshit. We’ve got to sort this out,” Jisung insisted, trying to cap his rising anger.

Minho exhaled heavily, and finally looked at Jisung, but it was not a happy look. His eyes were like knives, burning hot and icy cold at the same time. He said, “What’s to sort out? I’m too emotionless to want anything more than sex, and you made the mistake of falling for me. I think we’ve covered it.”

Jisung huffed, “I told you, I didn’t mean it. I shouldn’t have said all that, it was mean and stupid and I’m sorry. You’re not emotionless and I haven’t made any mistakes. At least, not until now. Now I’m kind of fucking it up and I’m sorry for that too.”

Minho seemed to absorb his words. He looked back down at his laptop screen. “Cool. So we’re done here.”

“No, we’re _not_ ‘done here,’” Jisung argued, taking a couple gentle steps forward. “I need to know why you acted the way you did if you only wanted to fuck. You led me on.”

“How did I lead you on? Did I ever say I was yours? Did I ever say you were mine?” Minho challenged, still not looking at him. “We had fun, but we were never exclusive, and I never implied that we were. I didn’t tie you down or rope you into anything. You’ve blown all of this out of proportion and you did it all on your own.”

Jisung’s mouth gaped, and he sputtered for a moment, completely baffled. He surmised, “So, if I fucked other people, you wouldn’t care?”

Minho’s jaw was tight. “No, I wouldn’t. And honestly, if I fucked someone else, you wouldn’t care either, would you?”

Jisung hung his head. He did have objections to that, but he kept them to himself. There was no point, now. “No. I guess not.”

“Exactly. So we’re done here,” Minho finished.

Rage burned in Jisung’s chest, so he thought it best to remove himself from the situation, before he made things worse. He ducked into his room and closed the door, flopping down onto his bed and stuffing his face in the pillow. He couldn’t cry, he was too angry to cry, too frustrated at the world, at Minho, at how this had turned out. He was still asking himself how it had gone so wrong, but that question couldn’t be answered, and it was pointless now, anyway. It greatly seemed like whatever the two of them had was over. Minho was content to bury it, and Jisung would just have to be fine with that.

He didn’t want to think about it anymore. He was tired of dwelling on the past. He wanted to look at the future’s potential, he needed someplace to go, something to set his mind at ease. So, he took out his phone and sent a text, to the new number that had been added that day.

11월 23일, 7:39 오후  
브리 안녕, 지성이야 (Hey Bree, it’s Jisung)  
내일 저녁 먹을래? (Want to get dinner tomorrow?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think of this chapter in the comments! <3
> 
> Twitter:  
> [mediochris](https://twitter.com/mediochris)
> 
> Playlists:  
> [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4ma2hDqtwQ5mcIkDEr5tVr?si=KYINhj5WQZSbduUXz_NMJQ&utm_source=copy-link)  
> [YouTube](https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLDhpgCX7r_mlB5wOszbyYmDWdcXW81Y_4)  
> [Apple Music](https://music.apple.com/in/playlist/molasses-in-the-sky/pl.u-DdANvqaIalAPmpJ)


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